The Dark Ages I: Death's Servant
by L'Ankou
Summary: A small huh, big? variation on the Dark Brotherhood and the main questlines. Lucien Lachance, Martin Septim, Vicente Valtieri and all the gang are going on an adventure. Finally COMPLETE! XD
1. In Sithis' Name

**Chapter 1 - In Sithis' Name**

_**01/01/09 : Edited version, beta readed by Raven-Studio. Thanks a lot ! (hugs)**  
_

**15/06/08 : Edited version. Thanks to GentleButterfly for the Beta reading. :D**

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The young Breton had wandered the muddy streets of Leyawiin for hours, and she did not seem very happy.

She shuffled along with her hands jammed deep in her pockets, and from time to time kicked at some stone or another on the ground. She suddenly jumped when, behind her, a city guard called out "Six o'cloooock, and aaaall's weeeelllll!"

'_No, that's not fine, not fine _at all_!_' She thought irritably, shooting him a very dark glance as he passed by.

The guard ignored the look, focused onw laking his beat.

Sigrid sighed heavily as she remembered how _honored _she had felt, at first, when Ocheeva announced that she was chosen by the Black Hand to get rid of the Dark Brotherhood's worst enemy. She became far less enthusiastic when she discovered her target was Adamus Phillida. Everybody knew the Imperial Legion Commander. He was a decent enough sort - well, at least compared to the rest of those useless boors from the Legion. Despite the fact that Phillida had quickly become rather obsessive about the Brotherhood, she had admired his competence, his determination...and the fact that he had been able to escape the fearsome assassins sent after him by the Black Hand. Not once, but twice!

But to Ocheeva, who seemed to have a personnel grudge against Phillida, such arguments would probably have appeared weak. And such an offer – an order? – from the Black Hand was difficult, if not impossible to refuse.

'_Hmm,' _Sigrid thought as she walked_, "one can always refuse, but then takes the risk to end one's life wallowing in what is left of one's own entrails..."_

So, she more or less stifled her scruples – yes scruples! - and traveled to Leyawiin. Once there, she spent three days watching Phillida's schedule very closely, finally concluding that the best time to do her 'accounting' – Dark Brotherhood's jargon for 'execution' – was when the retired Legion Commander took his daily swim in the afternoon. Indeed, without his amour, he was defenseless against the deadly "Rose of Sithis", the special arrow the Black Hand had reserved for Phillida.

So today, Sigrid waited in ambush near the pond, ready to strike. However at the fateful moment, she found herself unable to kill him, the Rose remained notched, the string taut, but the Rose did not fly. Why? She could not answer the question – and knew no answer would satisfy the Black Hand. Maybe her conscience twinged because of his age. No, Rufio and Baelin were both of similar age and she had not minded killing them.

A feeling of shame and rage overcame her at the memory of her failure. Cursing herself for being such a ridiculous and sensitive ninny, she kicked hard at another stone on the ground, which drew a perfect arc in the air before falling with a nice resonant '_clang!_' right on the helmet of the watchman's now walking in front of her.

"What the...!?" Exclaimed the watchman, turning back. He found the street empty. Even the black haired and gloomy-looking girl who sloped along, muttering to herself but a few moments ago had disappeared. The guard shrugged, turning back.

Behind the barrel where she crouched, Sigrid sighed in relief when she heard the guard's footsteps moving away. '_Careless, so very careless_.'

"_Teineeva is right, you know... You are too nervous, unable to control your feelings and thus not careful enough. This not a good thing, _especially_ for an assassin..._" Whispered the little voice in her head.

"_I don't remember asking for your opinion!_" Sigrid snapped back mentally.

Being an only child, and having spent most of her childhood in an environment exclusively composed of adults, she had taken the habit at an early age to speak mentally to herself. And soon, she found out that something in her head _answered_. She did not know whether it was a reassuring thing, but she was clever enough not to tell anyone about it.

"_You perfectly know I don't need your permission to voice my opinion..."_ Lhe little voice carried on, the sound of amused laughter crawling around her skull like many-leggedinsects.

"_Shut_up_, will you!?"_

As annoying as it was, Sigrid had to admit to herself, however grudgingly, the little voice was right. She remembered her last conversation with Teineeva in Cheydinhal's Sanctuary. It happened only a few days ago but it seems as if weeks had passed since.

--

"_Sigrid, I have told you innumerable times, try to conceal your feelings, for Sithis' sake! You were radiating keenness and fear so much I felt you coming miles away! Just try to be...cold-blooded. Nothing, neither fear nor anger should emanate from you". The Argonian instructed patiently, but Sigrid could see the patience beginning to fray. How long, and no improvement certainly frustrated his attempts to help her improve as an assassin. _

"_Pfff, cool-blooded... Easy for you to say that, you're a lizard!" Sigrid spat, irritation finally getting the better of her._

_At that precise moment, the Breton lay aching, flat on the floor in the main hall, after having pathetically failed in an attempt to attack Teineeva by sneaking up on him. Gogron the Orc, who had witnessed it all, hunkered against the wall for support, laughing hard enough to bring tears of mirth to his eyes._

_It had become a game between Sigrid and the Argonian. At any time in the Sanctuary, she could attempt a sneak attack on him. Unfortunately, she had never successfully carried out a single one. Oh, she was fine with the sneaking part; it was the attack itself that caused her no end to trouble. Every time she attacked the Argonian by surprise, he managed to anticipate and parry her blow. She then had to count on her fighting skills, which according to Teineeva were good, and she often had the advantage during their struggles_. But this was no comfort to her _now_...

…_for in the real world, as Teinaava was fond of saying, there were no second chances. _

_Teineeva smiled at Gogron's hilarity and Sigrid's failure, before he offered the girl a clawed hand. "Calmness is the key. You will never be able to achieve a sneak attack if you don't get a grip on yourself just before striking..." He declared for the hundredth time. _

_Sigrid took the Argonian's hand, letting him pull her back to her feet._

"_Well, I know, but it's in my character. I just can't help it," she grumbled, shooting a murderous glance at the Orc who was still desperately trying to muffle his giggles_.

'_It is not a matter of character'_, she thought, brushing off some dust on her amour. _'It is more or less that I feel it is a dishonorable way of doing things.'_

"_Ah, come on! You just need to practice, that is all. Don't get frustrated. The Empire wasn't built in a day!" Exclaimed Teineeva. "Even Gogron here can do it..." Teinaava paused before adding maliciously: "Well, at least when he feels like it..." The implication – that it took Gogron a while to learn anythgina bout stealth – was not lost on Sigrid. Though the fact remained it should be easier for a small Breton than a big Orc to learn stealth. _

"_Yeah, and I don't feel like it much!" The Orc boomed, walking toward them wiping the tears from his_ eyes.

"_Gogron is right," said Sigrid to Teinaava "Why can't I just rush my target blowing everything out of my way, like him? You guys always say I am a great fighter. I don't need sneak attacks!"_

"_Now now, you're bold girl," said Gogron, patting her gently on the head, "it's true. You are good at fighting. But remember I am seven feet and two hundred twenty pounds of muscled Orc, whereas you are a flimsy little Breton who has trouble standing straight on a windy day..." Gorgon winked. _

"_He is right, you know," said Teineeva as Sigrid was about to tell Gogron what she thought of seven feet and two hundred twenty pounds muscled Orc. "You can't adopt the same fighting strategy as him; you're far, er, far too different." He ended lamely as Sigrid gave him a smoldering look that threatened a head-on, face-to-face attack that might make Teinaava prefer to tangle with the muscle-bound Orc. _

"_You know what that means, girl," said Gogron, grabbing her by the shoulder and making her face the training-room door. He pushed her firmly towards it, then slapped her bottom once she started walking, yelling cheerfully: "Back to work!"_

--

When Sigrid finally shook herself from her daydreaming, night had fallen and she was leaning against the barrel, looking at one of the two moons in the sky.

"_Even as the Dark Brotherhood's greatest enemy, and whatever Ocheeva and the rest may say, Phillida deserves better than being shot like a dog." _She thought resolutely. "_He will find his end at my hands, but in my own way...it's my contract, after all."_

Nevertheless, that could wait until tomorrow.

**777777777777777777777777**

Phillida woke up in the drafty guard station, suddenly alert and watchful.

The night air hung humid and hot. It outside rain fell heavily, drumming hard on the roof, as often in this tropical region. The usual guard was out on an inspection south of Leyawiin that night, so he had asked Phillida to visit the watch tower (though 'take his place' was more the actuality) – giving Phillida time study some interesting scrolls the city watch had come into possession of. A passionate reader like Phillida could not refuse such an offer...

Right now, however – after the scrolls proves less diverting than he had hoped - Phillida had his ears perked, listening for all the little sounds made by the nocturnal creatures of the swamp. More specifically for sounds that were not among those innocent scurrying.

'_Nothing, Hmmm...'_He rubbed his face with his hand to get the sleep out, and got out of his chair. He stopped near his bodyguard, who had felt asleep in a chair, head on the table. Phillida frowned as he checked his pulse but looked relieved when the guard started snoring loudly. The usual guard wouldn't be back before dawn. Which meant that he was on his own.

The Commander took a deep breath, then walked back near his chair, were he pulled his sword from its place leaning agasint the chair. He attached it around his waist, but did not bother to put his boots on, before walking resolutely toward the door, trying to flex stiffness out of his muscles.

Falling asleep in one's chair was never a good idea.

Phillida stepped out of the guardpost. The feeling of the rain on his body finished waking him up. Moving what he could clal a safe distance away from the building, he stopped and waited, listening hard. He didn't have long to wait. A shadow was coming nearer. When it was less than four feet from him, it turned into a soaking wet, black haired Breton girl, who appeared to be wearing the Dark Brotherhood amour.

"_Damn!" _Thought Sigrid as she continued walking towards the former Legion Commander. _"He wasn't supposed to wake up before I entered the building_

She balled her fists. She had planned everything so carefully. She knew the usual guard would be on duty elsewhere, and that Phillida would stay here all night. However, Sigrid had expected to fight him _inside _– not out in the middle of a quiet, muddy street. Her small size had counted as an advantage in close and narrow spaces, especially against taller and heavier opponents. Now, she could see the drawbacks of that former advantage.

"_Now, you just have lost your best assets..."_ Whispered the little voice in her head.

"Hmm" Phillida said, smiling. "I recognized you. You had a little chat with my bodyguard in the city, this afternoon."

"Adamus Phillida...Sithis needs your soul." Sigrid had tried to take on a sepulchral voice while saying this, but it was far from being a success. She sounded rather...

"_Pathetic?_" Offered the little voice.

The girl did not even bother to answer. Her gaze was fixated on Phillida, who took calmly his sword out of its sheath and made a few movements with it to warm up his wrist.

"Oh, Sithis needs my souls, does he?" Phillida said, still smiling, albeit coldly, and raising one of his eyebrows in a sarcastic way. "Well, you can tell your Dread Father he can kiss my wrinkled...!"

Sigrid never heard what Sithis was supposed to kiss, as she was too busy ducking out of the way of the sword's swing. She had expected an attack, but not at that speed. She heard the blade cutting the air where her neck had been a quarter of a second before.

"_Oye, he's fast !" _She thought while jumping to her left, rolling on her shoulder before coming up right, blade leaping from its sheath into the guard position. But Phillida was already on her, his sword raised. They exchanged a few attacks, and Sigrid had to retreat to avoid the rain of blows that were trying – nearly succeeding – in snatching her short silver sword out of her hand.

"_Fast and strong..."_

"I guess that the nice little carrot cakes you offered my bodyguard were impregnated with a sleeping potion..." Phillida mused softly, walking toward the girl.

Sigrid retreated a little more. "Yes," she answered, eyes roving, looking for a chink in Phillida's defenses. "I hope he enjoyed them." Sigrid had always praised herself for her culinary skills... and her skills as an outstanding alchemist.

"Oh, yes, he did." The Commander continued. "I always told him gluttony would lead him on the road to ruin. Too bad for you I am not too keen on carrot cakes..."

Phillida stopped moving, and the two opponents stood still, observing one another like cats prepared to fight. Looking for that one little weakness…

"Actually, I choose them on purpose," Sigrid answered haughtily, though mostrly out of spite. "as I did not _want_ you impeded in any way."

For the first time, Phillida looked surprised. "Really? And why, may I ask? It would have been easier for you to slay me."

Sigrid hesitated before answering. She still did not know exactly why she did not follow the initial planned, but finally said: "Well, I _thought_ about shooting you during your daily swim, but finally decided that killing you in a duel would be a plus for my career as an assassin."

Phillida bowed ironically. "I am much honored, but your arrogance is going to be your downfall!"

"Tsss, tsss, my poor Adamus. Gluttony, arrogance: you seem to be surrounded by sinners..." Sigrid managed to purr before action exploded in the quiet street.

They both jumped forward. Their swords clashed violently agasint one another. They fought for a few minutes, thrust after thrust, parry after parry. Sigrid finally managing to disengage and retreat once more. Sweat was streaming down her face, stinging her eyes.

The former Legion Commander clearly had the advantage. Now Sigrid realized she had clearly underestimated him. '_There are no second chances_', Teinaava's sibilant voice hissed in her memory.

She was Great Champion of the Arena, right. But apparently, it was not enough to defeat a retired soldier who had spent _a life_ fighting. Phillida was faster, stronger and more experienced. Actually, Sigrid should have considered the fact that if you can retire after a lifelong-career of soldiering, you may be a damn good one after all. Not to mention he had escaped the Brotherhood's claws twice before now.

In addition, because of the rain, her leather amour grew heavier with every second ticking past, and she kept slipping and sliding in the mud, unable to get good footing. On the contrary, Phillida, who had stayed bare footed, was able to better stabilize himself by sticking his toes in the soaked ground.

"_You old cunning bastard,"_ she thought, grimly.

He must have felt her hesitation, because he hocked his head before saying : "So, what now, little girl? Are you waiting some of your friends to rescue you?"

He leapt forward as he said this and made a particularly vicious thrust at Sigrid. She raised her sword to parry, but doing so left her right knee without protection. This was what Phillida was expecting, and he slammed his foot down viciously on the joint. It broke with a horrible crack.

Sigrid screamed, her voice breaking as she collapsed backward in the mud, groaning and clutching her knee. Through tears of pain, she rolled onto her stomach and tried to reach her sword. But the former Commander raised his own blade and pinned her hand on the ground. Sigrid yelled and squirmed, trying to remove the blade with her free hand. Phillida, knelt down beside her, caught her wrist and removed her hand from the sword's hilt.

"Oh no, my dear butterfly," he said calmly, "you will remain pinned here while I get some help. Anyway, you won't get far with that knee." He looked into the girl's tearful eyes, her features distorted with pain and rage. "I thought about killing you first. Finally, a living Dark Brotherhood's member is the only hunting trophy that misses at my bag. I also can be a bit arrogant, you see..." He stopped suddenly. Frowning, he let her hand go and got up straight. Scanning the surroundings, he sniffed the air a few times.

'Gods_, what is that _smell_?' _thought Sigrid_._ She clenched her teeth, trying to forget about the lancing pain emanating from both her knee and hand, and sniffed the air. The air was saturated with a sickly sweet odor. It reminded Sigrid nauseatingly of the ancient tombs in Elsweyr she visited with her father, in the Elsweyrian desert. Of battlefields. Of swamps.

'_All different places, but the same smell. The smell of death...of _rot_.'_

A sound behind her, like the one of a cart's axle, sent a shiver along her spine. Around her, the surroundings seemed to have lost their colors, and the rain fell as if in slow motion. Sigrid suddenly felt very sick, but despite her malaise, she managed to raise her head toward Phillida and, to her amazement, realized that he was struck dumb with terror.

His open-wide eyes were fixed at something behind her.

It was now or never. Sigrid reached the dagger hidden in one of her boots and with a ferocious lunge born of desperation, she stuck it to the hilt into Phillida's stomach. He fell to his knees, falling slowly, landing face first on the ground. As soon as he expired, the rain started falling normally again and all the colors suddenly came seeping back.

Sigrid took a few deep breathes to calm her painfully racing heart, and glanced behind her shoulder to see what had scared Phillida so much. She could not see anything, but clearly heard again the sound of the rusty axle in the distance. Whatever it was, it was now gone.

Sigrid gathered the fortitude and strength she had left and - trying not to yell, whimper, or gasp in pain- pulled the blade pinning her to the ground free. She winced when she realized that the tendons in her hand were sliced through, her teeth gritted with pain so ot eventhe moan of despair at the damage could squeak through. Shelooked at her right knee. It was an open fracture. She sighed, but it came out as more of a pant – at which point she realized that, during those few moments between Phillida's onset of fear and his death, her breath and his had both come in the form of cold clouds of mist. Unbelievable in the warm Leyawiin night.

She would need M'raaj-Dar's talents to efficiently heal both, her own skills far too weak to heal such wounds. He would definitely call her a 'Foul-smelling ape'.

"_Ape, obviously. Smelling, sometimes. But fool, certainly!"_ Said the little voice angrily.

Sigrid found no answer to that, for it was quite true.

She more or less managed to get on her feet. She limped toward Phillida's swiftly cooling body, rolling it over in order to retrieve her dagger. She played a bit with the dagger in her uninjured hand while considering the old man's corpse.

"_There is one more little thing I need to do..."_


	2. Disturbing news

**Edit 01/02/09 : Thanks a lot to Raven Studio for the Beta reading !**

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"Welcome back, dear sister! And congratulations for successfully completing your last contract," declared Vicente Valtieri.

The vampire sat in the main hall, reading the latest edition of the Black Horse Courier, when a limping and exhausted-looking Sigrid shuffled through the Sanctuary's door. Her left hand was wrapped in a bloody rag.

'_Apparently, things did not go too well,'_ he thought as he walked toward the Breton girl. _'At least, she is still alive...'_ "What happened to your knee?" He demanded, as he looked at the injuries, keeping the sharpness of surprise out of his tone.

"It broke," replied Sigrid flatly. She did not want to go into the subject. All she wanted was to get some rest – _painless_ rest, preferably. Her ride to the Imperial City and the delivery she had to make there had bothered her, bothered her far more than she could admit in present company.

She managed to drag herself to the seat Valtieri had occupied until a few seconds ago and collapsed in it. She sighed, then looked around, swallowing back the pain. "But where are the others ?" She asked.

"All out on duties," answered Valtieri, stretching his back and muffling a yawn. "Only M'raaj-Dar and I are here, tonight." He looked at her knee again, and then at her hand. He could tell when she closed her hand, moving it to hide the damage that she did not want him looking at it. As if she found the injuries indecent. "And I had better fetch him. That looks nasty," he added, motioning to the wounds, which seemed to have begun to go septic. "Would you like a glass of wine ?" He offered.

"Yes, I wouldn't mind," mumbled the Breton. The vampire poured her a glass before leaving her alone. Sigrid's gaze ran randomly around the room, then on the table where it finally spotted the last Black Horse Courier's issue. She took a sip of wine and started to read.

"Adamus Phillida Slain!"

Sigrid nearly choked on her wine, quickly putting the glass down lest she spill it, before reading the article, somewhat aghast.

"SPECIAL EDITION! ADAMUS PHILLIDA SLAIN BY DARK BROTHERHOOD!

by Waldorf Wordswell

(_'Pfff, 'Wordswell'...What an arrogant name for a pen pusher...', _Sigrid thought acidly).

_In what can only be described as a blatant assault on the security and liberty of the civilized people of Cyrodiil, retired Imperial Legion commander Adamus Phillida was brutally murdered by the secretive assassins guild known as the Dark Brotherhood. The slaying occurred in the sleepy town of Leyawiin, where Phillida had chosen to spend the remainder of his days. It was to be a life of quiet solitude, far removed from the hustle and bustle of the Imperial City, where Phillida had served the Imperial Legion proudly for more than twenty-five years._

_But even in retirement, the noble Legion commander could not escape his past. Throughout the years, Adamus Phillida had become a rather vocal opponent of the Dark Brotherhood and its practices, and vowed to expose the organizations' secrets and bring its leaders to justice. Indeed, Phillida had been targeted for assassination twice in the past, but both attempts were thwarted by the commander and his Legion soldiers. Sadly, his luck ran out in Leyawiin._

_When asked if there was any doubt as to the Dark Brotherhood's involvement in Phillida murder, newly appointed Imperial Legion commander Giovanni Civello had this to say:_

_"_It was the Dark Brotherhood, all right. No question about it. This was a crime of vengeance, a despicable act of hatred and evil against a pinnacle of nobility and virtue. Adamus fought the Dark Brotherhood every day of his life, and he died for what he believed in. Adamus Phillida was a great man. He taught me everything I know, and I'll be damned if I let his dream die with him. From this day forward, I vow to destroy the Dark Brotherhood and everything they stand for!_" ('__You bet! _This_ sort of genius keeps the Empire informed?') _

_Adamus Phillida may be dead, but it would seem his fight against the Dark Brotherhood lives on in Giovanni Civello and the rest of the Imperial Legion. There may soon come a day when those bloodthirsty assassins have more to fear than the good people of the Imperial Province.__ ('What-ever…') _"**1**

Sigrid was still looking at the article with extreme distaste when Valtieri came back with M'raaj-Dar.

"Do you still think it was such a good idea to execute Phillida?" Asked Sigrid, trying to conceal her real motives. "After all, he was retired and not a direct threat to the Brotherhood. And it seems that this Giovanni Civello is now officially pissed off, and determined to give us the time of our lives..." She case the paper aside, propping an elbow on the chair, he rhead on her hand. It seemed – though she could not say it out loud – a waste of life, and of pain and suffering. The latter her own.

'_Finding Phillida's finger in his desk, at his Imperial City Office, must not have helped him to like us...' _she added to herself, reaching for her wine again.

"There is not much Civello can do to us. At least, he can't be _worse_ than Phillida," the vampire said. "And anyway, we still can send you after him..."

"Indeed!" M'raaj-Dar added enthusiastically. "He won't last a minute against an assassin of your class."

Sigrid was so surprised she almost strangled herself while drinking. That was the first time she heard M'raaj-Dar talking to her without punctuating his sentence with an insult. She shoot the Khajit a quizzical look.

Valtieri gave a soft cough. "Well," he declared, "if you two don't need me anymore, I will get back to my room. I have a few administrative tasks to finish before Ocheeva gets back."

"See you, Vicente," Sigrid raised her glass toward him. "And thanks for the wine."

The vampire made a vague 'you're welcome' wave with his hand, before walking to his room, nestled deep in the very foundations of the sanctuary, leaving the Breton and the Khajiit alone.

"So, that's, eeerr, good to see you again among us..." started M'raaj-Dar uncomfortably.

'_OK. I am exhausted, suffering from high blood loss and slightly drunk. So if you are going to say what I think you want to tell me,_ _M'raaj-Dar , say it now.'_

"And, I would like to say that... I am sorry."

Sigrid's eyelids flickered. An awkward silence ensued.

The last three words had come out at high speed, but she clearly heard them, and even if she had expected them they came a bit as a shock. All M'raaj-Dar's little slurs and irritating comments came back to her in full force. She couldn't say she was not hurt by the way he treated her, but what would be the point in refusing his apology _now_ ?

The Khajiit kept his golden eyes on his feet, looking quite embarrassed. Considering that his embarrassed suffering had last long enough, Sigrid finally said:

"That's fine, M'raaj-Dar. Don't worry about it."

The Khajit almost sight in relief. "Now, I should take a look at your knee and hand," he said, bending over her.

"How did you manage to ride with such wounds?!" he exclaimed, as Sigrid took off the wraps and makeshift bandages around her hand and knee.

"I did a series of minor healing spells. It didn't cure them, but at least they stopped bleeding and aching…well mostly." There was some drowsiness in her voice. "Do you think you will be able to cure them completely ?"

But Sigrid did not hear the answer, and all she felt before falling asleep was the warmth of the healing spells on her body.

**777777777777777777777**

_Sigrid lay in her bed, listening intensely to the conversation next door between the healer and her father._

"_There is nothing I can do now, my Lord," the healer told Lord Trencavel. "I am afraid that your mother won't pass the night."_

_There was a pause. Finally, she heard her father saying:_ "_I understand. At least, try your best to avoid her any suffering."_

_Sigrid closed her eyes, shivering. In the distance, she distinctly heard the creaking noise of a rusty axle..._

--

"Hey, Sigrid !" Somebody was shaking her shoulder.

"Pfrtsbplb," said the Breton girl, rolling herself into her blankets.

"Come on, wake up!"

Sigrid opened an eye and saw her compatriot and fellow Sister, Antoinetta Marie, bending over her. no avoiding wakefulness, then, Sigrid decided as she sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Antoinetta was nothing if not _persistent_.

The two girls were in the sanctuary's living quarters, but Sigrid could not remember how she got there.

"_M'raaj-Dar must have dragged me here,"_ Sigrid thought. She looked at her left hand, then lifted up her blankets to check her knee. Both perfectly cured. There was not even a single scar left to mark the original injuries.

"Ah, you finally have decided to emerged from your bed!" said Antoinetta. She was now standing up at her side, both hands on her hips. "Everybody's waiting for you. We're having breakfast." Antoinetta caught Sigrid's glance toward the empty table in the corner of the room, and smiled. "Ocheeva was so happy when she learnt about Phillida's execution that she decided it deserved some kind of celebration. The table here was not big enough to support all the food she made, so we decided to eat upstairs, in the main hall. Get dressed! Hurry up!"

"Alright." Sigrid got out of bed and start stretching her arms and legs. "Just give me five minutes. I want to wash up a bit.."

"Fine, but don't take too long," replied Antoinetta while heading toward the door. "There is nothing strong enough in Nirn to stand between Gogron and a table full of food..."

**777777777777777777**

When Sigrid finally arrived in the hall, she was welcomed by a rather ecstatic Ocheeva. After the Argonian hugged her and told her how proud she was to have her in the Sanctuary, the rest of the group came to greet her as well. Gogron almost broke her ribs when he took her into his arms and Teinaava winked at her, mouthing a "well done". Antoinetta, Vicente and M'raaj-Dar were looking at the scene, smiling.

The less enthusiastic was probably Telaendril. Sigrid had a cordial relationship with the High Elf, but it did not go further than that. _"We'll probably never be friends, but, at least, we're not enemies"._ The Breton wondered why it was so. Was she jealous? If yes, why? Was it because Sigrid had climbed the ranks of the Brotherhood so quickly, or because she got on well with Gogron?

"Thanks everybody – Gogron, would you mind letting me go? I need to breathe...for your kind welcome. But I think we should start having breakfast, as some of us may faint from hypoglycemia." Sigrid looked at Gogron, smiling.

The Orc beamed back.

Once they were all seated and started to eat, they all asked her to give details about Phillida's death. Sigrid told them as much as she could, although carefully kept her mouth shut on her moral dilemma and the strange phenomenon that had helped her to get rid of Phillida.

Her brothers and sisters eventually began conversing with one another. Telaendril was telling Gogron that drinking six pints of beer for breakfast was definitely _not _a good idea, Vicente was trying to explain calmly to Antoinetta why she should stop cooking with garlic, and Ocheeva, Teinaava and M'raaj-Dar were conversing about the political impact of Phillida's murder.

_A union of like-minded individuals_. Sigrid remembered perfectly how Lucien Lachance, the Speaker from the Black Hand who recruited her, described the Brotherhood the first time they met.

"_Am I really like them ?"_, she thought. Sigrid was now realising she was not especially looking forward her next contract.

"_Hmmm, an assassin who doesn't like killing... \What an interesting concept!" _Cheered the little voice in her head.

"_Well, it's not that I don't like killing. I simply enjoy the manhunt more than the killing,"_ Sigrid replied reasonably. "_For example, I hated that job at Summitmist Manor, in Skingrad. But looking for Faelian and setting a trap..._" She stopped and frowned mentally. _"But anyway, why am I trying to justify myself to you? You're just a figment of my imagination!"_

"_Now, you perfectly know that I am not. And nor was what happened in Lewayiin..."_

Sigrid shivered. The little voice's last comment sounded like threat. She raised her eyes from her plate, finding Vicente watching her intensely, having finished his conversation with Antoinetta. She suddenly realised she did not know much about vampires' abilities. A serious shortcoming.

"_Oye, can they read minds?"_ She wondered desperately as she sought to find a way to escape his gaze. Fortunately, Gogron chose that moment to push a dish full of what seemed to be a mix of chicken legs and fur of unidentified animals, the whole swimming into a muddy sauce in front of her.

"Now, Sigrid, tell me what you think of that. It is a typical Orc stew," he said, taking a spoon and starting serving her. "I made it myself," he added proudly.

"Er, thanks," Sigrid managedas she gazed gloomily at her plate. She could have sworn she saw one of the chicken legs _still _moving...

"Gogron," started Antoinetta, who was also looking at Sigrid's plate with an expresison of horror and sick fascination stamped across her features, "has anybody ever told you that you really should _kill_ your food before cooking it?"

While they were arguing to the great pleasure of the rest of the group, Sigrid took the opportunity to discreetly fed her plate's contents to Schemer, the Sanctuary domestic rat.

"_I hope he won't die of poisoning," _she thought as Schemer left with a chicken leg between his teeth_. "It would be a shame to face Sithis' Wrath just because of Gogron's miserable cooking abilities..."_

They spent an hour talking and laughing. Then, as most of them had been on duty all night, they retired one by one to bed, until Sigrid found herself left alone with Ocheeva.

"Now we are alone, I can give you this." She held out a letter. "It arrived earlier this morning, but I did have the heart to wake you," she continued. "It's from Lucien. You should read it before doing anything else."

Ocheeva left, and Sigrid started reading Lachance's missive. She felt a pang of anguish. The tone of the letter was clearly urgent. Leaving the sanctuary, Sigrid wondered what kind of troubles lay ahead.

**77777777777777777777**

Lucien Lachance sat at his desk, in Fort Farragut. Having weighed some peony seeds with his scales, he added them to the mortar along with a bit of fresh human skin. (Did I ever point out that's really gross?) He stopped crushing the two ingredients when the mixture only when the two powdered reagents no longer seemed separate ingredients. Lucien poured it into a bowl, and after having carefully wrapped a piece of cloth over his nose and mouth like a mask, he added a few drops of imp gall.

"_Good," _he thought, squinting through the acrid silvery cloud rising from the new poison, glad of his protective goggles.

Along with reading, alchemy had always been the best way for Lucien to relax - Sithis knew he really needed that at the moment. In addition, this little hobby – a quite obvious one for a professional assassin - had allowed him to benefit from a well-furnished reserve of potions and, of course, poisons.

He raised his head as he heard some noise, deep in the fort's bowels.

"_That should be that Trencavel girl._"

He got up from his desk and looked for his Black Hand robes and hood. He could not received his guest if not dressed properly.

"_After all, the main part of being a Dark Brotherhood Speaker is about 'the show'"_ he thought, smiling while taking off his protective gear.

Indeed, being the 'visible' part of the Dark Brotherhood, the Speakers had the responsibility of maintaining an image. As part of the leadership of an association of "homicidal cut-throats" –as Lucien's himself put it – they had to cultivate a certain sense of secrecy and morbid mystique. Hence the black hood, robes and the great taste for delivering dramatic speeches to new members and customers.

Lucien knew he was quite good at the craft of showmanship.

The Black Sacrament followed the same logic. The Night Mother's attention could be drawn by a simple prayer addressed to her, but for people, that would not have been enough. The Black Sacrament ceremony came as the logical answer to this thirst for superstition and ceremony.

Plus, the gruesome ritual easily sorted out the truly motivated – you have to be motivated to make an effigy with real body parts – and thus not wasting time and money on cowards that would stop everything at the last minute. The Dark Brotherhood was indeed a cult, but also a business, and after all, money and religion have always mixed very nicely.

A soft _'snip! snip! snip!' _sound resonated in the distance.

"_Ah, she must have found the darts trap..."_

Lucien wondered how Lady Trencavel would deal with his Dark Guardians. According to Ocheeva, she still had not mastered sneak attacks.

He pulled his hood on, and waited. Finally, the gate opened, and Sigrid Trencavel stepped in.

"Ah, welcome, Eliminator." said Lucien, thinking, _"She looks as cheerful as usual..."_

"Speaker..." Sigrid replied politely.

Lucien noticed that a few darts were still stuck into her armour. Apparently, they had not pierced her armour because she was still alive. The poison with which they were coated was lethal. For an assassin, there was no other kind of poison.

"Please, do take a seat." He gestured toward a chair near the table. Sigrid nodded her thanks, flopping into the indicated chair. "May I offer you a drink?" He inquired, opening a small cupboard and taking a small bottle out.

"No, thank you, Speaker." she replied. Actually, she was a bit thirsty, but the vision of Lachance's drinking cabinet sitting so close to his alchemical cupboard made her nervous. Accidents did happen...and like poisons, there were very few accidents which were non-lethal when one was an assassin.

"Well, if you don't mind, I will take one." While Lachance was busy uncorking a bottle of what appeared to be Cyrodiilic cognac and pouring himself a glass, Sigrid took a look around. The room was dark, windowless, sparsely furnished but clean, even if it smelled stuffy and of fumes she did not want ti identify. The girl wondered if Lachance lived here all the time or if he used this place for business only.

"First," announced Lachance, dragging another chair so he could sit in front of her, "let me congratulate you for the brilliant execution of your last contract."

"My pleasure, Speaker." Said Sigrid, bowing her head.

"_Liar..."_ whispered the voice in her head.

"I have to say I am quite proud of having recruited you – on the Night Mother's advice, of course. I understand you've also adapted well to your new home..."

"_But I knew you would," _thought Lucien as the girl immediately launched into an explanation of how happy she was at the Sanctuary. "_That was the only thing I was sure about."_

He remembered skepticism hanging fomr his every though when he was ordered to recruit her. In his opinion, the slaying of Agronak Gro-Malog in an Arena match should _not_ count as a cold-blood murder. True, she could have saved him. But if she did not, it was because killing him seemed more charitable than letting him live knowing the truth about his origins...

Regardless of Lachance's personal feelings on the matter, Ungolim, the Speaker for the Black Hand, made plain to him that the Night Mother wanted Sigrid Trencavel recruited into the Brotherhood's ranks at all costs. Why? Neither Ungolim nor Leachance knew. He had observed her at the beginning, and to his surprise, she carried out all her contracts in a most satisfactory fashion, even if sometimes she seemed rather reluctant to execute her victims.

"_It does not matter now. I am soon going to work out how dedicated you actually are..."_ thought Lucien, rather looking forward to the process.

"That's a good thing," he replied to Sigrid, taking a sip from his glass. "But I hope your affection for the Cheydinhal's sanctuary and its members won't be a handicap for the task the Black Hand requires you to fulfill..."

1 This whole article is extracted (apart Sigrid's comments into brackets) from the game « The Elder Scrolls : Oblivion ».


	3. Purification or not ?

Sigrid came back to the sanctuary as if in a dream. Or, rather, a nightmare. She vaguely heard Teineeva and Vicente arguing in the main hall about the schedule of the duties for the week to come.

"_I just don't get it, Vicente. How come I am on cooking-duty AGAIN? I was not supposed to do anything this week!"_

"_You were wrong then. See here, that little tic in front of your name? I let you guess what it means…"_

"_And you, what are you doing, may I ask?" _

"_Well, my dear Teineeva, I do the schedule…"_

While working toward the living quarters, Sigrid went over her conversation with Lucien Lachance again. _Purification_. The word resounded in a sinister way in her head.

She remembered how she had almost felt of her chair when told the reason of her summoning by Lachance at Fort Faragut.

A traitor had infiltrated the Brotherhood, and he was somehow linked to the Cheydinhall's sanctuary. Hence, the Black Hand had deemed necessary to carry out the ritual of Purification; all the Cheydinhall's sanctuary members had to die. And she, Sigrid Trencavel, had been chosen to fulfil this task. Obviously, she was not suspected. The traitor had been active before she joined the Brotherhood…

This had been basically all she had been able to mentally take in. Lachance was still chatting, but her brain had refused to assimilate more information.

Sigrid's shock should have been obvious because at a point, Lachance had stopped talking.

"Did you hear what I just say?" he had asked her patiently.

"You... you want me to _kill_ the members of the Cheydinhall sanctuary?"

She did not know how she had managed to articulate that. Her voice had trembled and her mouth was so dry she had felt her tong would have stayed stuck to her palate.

"Basically, yes." he had replied, his calm tone emphasing the horror of the answer.

"But... What about the five tenets...?"

Lachance had raised his gloved hand to cut her protestations.

"I know you find our request quite disturbing. But this extreme situation requires extreme measures. "

"And what if the traitor is not in the sanctuary anymore?"

"The Black Hand considers that the Cheydinhall sanctuary has been tainted with treachery. Such… contamination can only be washed in blood."

"_Tainted_? What about me then? I have been living there for weeks! Shouldn't I be tainted as well?" Sigrid had tried her best not to sound sarcastic, but failed. A deep feeling of anger was rising slowly in her chest as she thought: "_How can he remain so calm while discussing the destruction of his own sanctuary?" _

"It seems that, despite all Teineeva's training, you are still not able to get a grip on yourself…" Lachance had said this with a very cold smile. More than the remark itself, it had been his nonchalant tone that infuriated Sigrid.

"_Your_ sanctuary is going to be destroyed and you look as if you don't mind at all!" she had said sourly. "Do you always take such a relaxed approach toward vital issues? No wonders why a traitor had managed to infiltrate Cheydinhall then…"

Despite the dim light, Sigrid had seen the Speaker's face turning paler. But her satisfaction to have finally made him react had vanished as she had realised she probably had gone too far. One of Gogron's remarks on how Lachance dealt once with one new recruit suddenly had sprung to her mind: _"Took me a week to take the blood of my boots."_ A cold sweat had started running down her spine. _"He is going to kill me…" _The Speaker had noticed her uneasiness and could not have retained a faint smile. Sigrid had suddenly realised that Lachance was looking tired, and despite her anger and fear, she had felt there was room for a pinch of sympathy.

"You know" Lachance had said in a weary voice "would the circumstances have been different, I would have killed you on the spot…"

The pinch of sympathy vanished in an instant.

"Well, if I understand, you are not quite ready to obey a direct order from your superiors." he had continued. "Do I need to remind you that by arguing orders issued by the Black Hand, you are taking the risk of breaking one of the Tenets?" He had bent over the table, toward her. "Let me be clear. We are not doing for entertainment: it is a matter of survival for the Dark Brotherhood to get rid of the traitor. And the sooner the better. We believe that he, or she, has already eliminated several members and it is high time to stop the hecatomb. So that's why we have decided to resort to the Purification." Lachance stopped had and fixed his dark eyes on hers. "But maybe you have a better idea?"

The last sentence should have sounded sarcastic. But strangely, it hadn't. Rather, it had seemed that Lachance had been expecting an answer. And, indeed, an idea had popped up in Sigrid's mind right after the Speaker had told her about the existence of the traitor.

"What if, er, I make my own enquiry on who has infiltrated the Dark Brotherhood?" Sigrid had ventured finally.

Lachance had replied nothing but again, a faint smile had appeared on his face, and the girl had had the unpleasant feeling that she had gone exactly where he had wanted her to.

"Just give me a week" she had carried on. "That should be enough for me to…"

"Four days from now, nothing more". Lachance's tone had brooked no reply and Sigrid had not tried to negotiate, as she had realised that his answer meant he had agreered tacitly to her proposal.

"_That's too good to be true... And I wonder why he is not carrying out the investigation himself. " _But it was a bit too late to backtrack now.

"And if within those four days I manage to work out who the traitor is, will the order for the Purification be withdrawn?" Sigrid asked.

Lachance had taken his glass, where a little bit of Cyrodiilic Cognac was left, and took a sip.

"I can't promise you anything." he had replied carefully. "But I guess the traitor's blood should be enough to appease both Sithis and the Black Hand…"

Sigrid had relaxed a bit. It had not been a clear "yes", but at least a categorical "no" either.

"How has the Black Hand come to the conclusion the traitor has something to do with the Cheydinhall's sanctuary?"

"Most of the traitor's victims are from there, which implies that he – or she – is linked to this sanctuary. Apparently, his latest victim is a girl called Maria. She disappeared all of a sudden. We have no proof that she is dead, but to me, it is the only possibility."

Sigrid registered this new information but had not had more time to ponder over it. Lachance had left his seat and walked toward his desk.

"Now, there are a few things that you may need for your… mission" he said.

He took a paper and a quill and started to write.

"First, there is a list with the names of the four other members of the Black Hand and their locations. Memorize it and then destroy it" His quill had hesitated, before starting writing again. "I am not supposed to give you that kind of information. But you will definitely need to speak to them. I am also going to write you a references letter." He had smiled at the puzzled look on her face. "I am not sure I will have time to warn all the Speakers and the Listener in time. This letter may help you to… clarify the situation with them. But they already know you, so in theory, you should be fine."

"_In theory?"_ Sigrid had experienced a brief moment of apprehension. After all, killing her would be breaking one of the Five Tenets…wouldn't it?

"And don't forget." Lachance had continued handing her the two pieces of paper. "If you fail to identify and stop the traitor within four days, you will have to perform the Purification..."

Sigrid had nodded silently, knowing perfectly that she would never be able to do it.

"Oh, one more thing... You may have noticed the black horse at the entrance of Fort Faragut. Her name is Shadowmere. You may take her for the duration of your mission. I think you will find her quite useful …"

Lachance had grinned while saying this and Sigrid had wondered what kind of surprise this smile concealed.

"Well, I think that we have covered everything. Now, I have to wish you good luck in your investigation... Silencer."

"_Silencer?"_ Sigrid had no idea what he had meant by that, but before she could have asked Lachance an explanation, he had disappeared.

Sigrid sighted in relief when she realised that, apart from Schemer, the living quarters were empty. She was looking for a cosy and quiet atmosphere, which was definitely not the case when the rest of the family was around…

The girl walked toward her chest and started rummaging through it. She retrieved from it her wax tablet and went to sit on her bed.

"_Fine. Let's consider the different options" _Sigrid thought as she started scribbling on the tablet with her metal stylet. She had started pondering over the problem while getting back to the sanctuary.

"_There are three possibilities. First, the traitor is a mole working for an external entity". _And who seek to weaken the Brotherhood? Three names popped up in her head: the Imperial Legion, the Morag Tong and the Fighter Guild.

"_Jauffre will know whether a mole working for one them has infiltrated the Brotherhood. After all, the Blades are supposed to have a very good network of informants throughout the whole Empire." _Sigrid thought.

"_Will he really be able, and moreover, eager to answer that? After all, he was not able to prevent the Emperor's assassination. And he doesn't like much the idea of you being a member of the Dark Brotherhood…"_saidher head voice, sneering. Sigrid ignored the remark and carried on her reflection.

"_Second, the traitor is on his own, trying to reach a personal objective."_ This option was tricky. What could his main motivation be? Revenge for the murder of a close relative or friend? Or for not having for not having been promoted within the Brotherhood ranks quickly enough? Sigrid realised that there were too many plausible motives for vengeance and decided to drop that question for the moment.

"_Third, the traitor has a personal issue with the Brotherhood he hopes to settle by working for an external entity"_ This option, as combination of the first two would be the easiest to solve: if one of the two first hypotheses were wrong, so was this one.

Sigrid sighted and massaged her temples with the tip of her fingers. Now, what else did she know? Lucien had mentioned the strange disappearance of several Dark Brotherhood members, the latest being the one of a girl called Maria, who belonged to the Cheydinhall Sanctuary before she vanished.

"_I should focus on that one." _ It was the most recent, so the more likely to provide her with some kind of clues quickly.

Sigrid hastily put her wax tablet under her pillow when the doors of the living quarters opened. Vicente Valtieri stepped in.

"Here you are" he smiled as he put under her nose a piece of paper. "You are on shopping duty this week. And please don't complain! I lost enough time with Teineeva on the matter..."

"Actually Vicente, would you mind postponing my duty to next week? I may be rather busy in the coming days..."

"Really?" asked Vicente, raising an eyebrow. "And busy doing what? Composing another epic song? Working on another painting?" he said while gesturing toward her harp and her drawing set. "We have among us a painter and a singer raised in one of the most famous family of artists of Tamriel, but we never have been able to see or listen to any piece of her work. What a shame."

Sigrid shot him an amused glance. Everybody in Tamriel had heard of the Trencavels, a family who had provided the continent with many great painters, bards, alchemists and mages. Even if Sigrid, a Breton, had never shown any talent in the magical arts – to her father's great displeasure and the mages' astonishment – she was, according to many, one of the greatest bard ever and one of the best expert in alchemy alive. As for her drawing talents, she preferred charcoal-drawings to paintings, but despite the first were not as popular as the second, she had managed to create herself an important and wealthy clientele attracted by her very realistic style.

"You want to play the art critic?" she said as searching in her chest again. "What do you think of that?" she asked as she retrieved from it a pile of papers and handed it to the vampire.

Vicente took a look at the small canvas she just had given him. The first one was showing a man with long hair who seemed deeply concentrated on what he was reading. He smiled.

"Good portrait, really. I had never realised that I looked that skinny."

Vicente continued to look at the drawings. Sigrid seemed to like drawing people performing their day-to-day tasks: Teineeva training, Ocheeva talking to Talendril, and – Vicente winced – Antoinetta preparing one of her infect concoctions she dared calling "cuisine". There were also portraits from people Vicente didn't know. The vampire's smile suddenly became wider as he spotted a drawing showing Gogron doing the Brotherhood washing at the Cheydinhall's washing-place. The matrons around the Orc where looking at him, bewildered.

"You are very good at capturing movements and people facial expressions." Vicente said.

"Thanks. It is my grandmother who taught me how to draw. Actually, she is the one who had taught me everything I know, form music to fighting."

Sigrid had a faraway look in her eyes. Vicente suddenly realised that despite the fact that they were close he did not know much about her past. But as he was about to enquire more details about her grandmother, she asked him quite abruptly:

"Vicente, what can you tell me about a certain Maria?

The vampire looked surprised.

"Maria? How did you learn about her?"

Sigrid thought over the answer to give him. _"What if Vicente is the traitor?"_

He had been in the Dark Brotherhood for many years, but that didn't mean anything. Even after all this time, he could have decided to betray his family...

"_But in any case, if I want to learn the truth, I have to tell someone in the sanctuary about my assignment."_ And for some reason, Sigrid trusted Vicente Valtieri, probably because he had always acted as a father to her since she integrated the sanctuary.

Sigrid explained him the situation as well as she could, only remaining silent on what would happen if she couldn't carry her mission to a successful conclusion...

"That's not an easy task you will have to deal with…" said Vicente to Sigrid as both sat back on her bed.

"No, I know. And I would like you to stay… quiet about my mission." Sigrid did not need to develop. She knew both of them where thinking the same. "_The less people will know about it, the most chance we will have to take the traitor by surprise..."_

"Do you reckon Maria is dead, probably killed by the traitor?" Sigrid continued.

"Yes." The vampire shrugged. "We both know an assassin's life is not a quiet one. But it is true that we have lost many Brothers recently. Actually, more than usual… And Maria did not disappeared while on duty. "

"And did you notice anything weird about her? Something she said, the way she acted?"

Vicente crossed his arm while thinking over the question.

"Not really." he finally said. "But near the end, she was spending most of her free time outside the sanctuary, which was kind of weird because she usually preferred to stay among her Brothers and Sisters."

"And did you know where she was going and what she was doing here?"

"She never told me for I never asked her. But I have overheard conversations between her and Talendril and, in which she mentioned Anvil quite a few times. As for what she was doing there, I couldn't tell you."

"_Anvil." _Sigrid made a mental note.

"Right." said the girl. "So, it seems that Maria would be the traitor's last victim and..."

She stopped as Vicente gave a cough.

"Not quite so..." said the vampire warily. "There was another suspect death. Apparently, a member of the Black Hand has been killed _after_ Maria's disappearance."

"_What?_"

"I am not completely sure, though. But Ocheeva told me there was a rumour on how the Black Hand was trying to conceal the suspicious murder of one of them…"

Sigrid stood speechless for a while. _"Why did Lachance not mention it?"_

"And I guess that if it is a rumour, you don't have a clue about who was killed, where and how it happened…" she sighted.

"No, I am sorry…"

Vicente saw the demoralised look on Sigrid's face. He patted her on the shoulder and tried to find something to cheer her up.

"Thank you for trusting me." he said with a smile. "I really do appreciate, even if I am not sure I am being really helpful."

"You are, Vicente. And actually, I think you can help me a little bit more…" Sigrid stood up and walked toward her drawing set.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Vicente looking at her searching in the small box.

"I will go to Bruma. I need some information, and I know someone there who could help me. And after that, I think I will travel to Anvil. But first…" she turned toward Vicente, with a canvas and a in her hands "do you think you could describe me what Maria looked like?"

"Yes, I think so…"

Sigrid beamed at him.

"Want to see the Trencavels' famous drawing talents in action?"

**7777777777777777777777777 **

Sigrid arrived at the Cloud Ruler Temple just after sunset. The air was crisp and cold, and the first stars started shining in the sky. Nothing special happened during her travel. Well, nothing apart Lachance's mare's behaviour…

She took a look circumspectly at Shadowmere as they were climbing the stairs. This horse, which was certainly amongst the fastest in Cyrodiil, if not Tamriel, should have a homicidal maniac back in her family tree. Shadowmere had acted normally during the trip from Fort Farragut to Cheydinhall. But during their journey to the Cloud Ruler Temple, she systemically had tried to kill or hurt everything they met on their way: bandits, wolves, peaceful travellers and so on…

"_Do you remember, at that Inn where we stopped for lunch, how she…"_ the little voice in Sigrid's head asked.

"_Yes, I do"_ replied Sigrid flatly.

"_And on the road, when those bandits attacked us and…"_

"_Yes, yes! I was there, remember?"_

Even Sigrid's head voice had found Shadowmere's enthusiasm in bitting and trampling on people's feet – especially stable boy's - quit upsetting.

"_And I am not talking about her habit, once her opponents lay half-dead on the ground, to drive in their body's most sensitive parts the tip of her hoofs…"_

Sigrid winced when reminded that. The mare had not tried to hurt her, but apparently she was taking a malicious pleasure at putting her new ridder into trouble, like when she charged an Imperial Legion Officer on the road, apparently just for fun…

A voice brusquely roused her from her daydream.

"Welcome Madame!" greeted one of the Blades named Stefan.

"Huh…? Oh, hello Stefan! Is Jauffre around here?"

"The Master? At this time, he is probably in his office." said the Blade as he gestured toward the building.

"And what about Martin?" asked Sigrid. She perfectly knew the answer. But she preferred not to see him before her meeting with Jauffre, in order to avoid explaining him the motive of her visit to Jauffre. If the Grandmaster of the Blades knew she was a member of the Dark Brotherhood, Martin did not, and Sigrid considered it was fine that way…

"Martin Septim? He is working in the main hall, as usual." Stefan replied, confirming Sigrid's thoughts. "Do you want me to take care of your horse?" he added while walking toward Shadowmere.

"No!" yelled Sigrid. Stefan froze and looked at her quizzically.

"She… she is sick. Yeah, that's it. Sick. And, er, she can get contagious when catered…"

"Er, fine…" he said, moving carefully away from the mare.

"But thank you anyway…"

A rather doubtful Stefan bid Sigrid farewell. When the girl was sure he was gone, she gave Shadowmere an ironic grin. The mare shot the girl a glance of sheer disgust and turned her back to her.

Sigrid snorted and walked toward Jauffre's office, using the lateral entrance. She liked the atmosphere of the Clouds Temple. The smell of wood, the busy and cosy ambience reminded her from her father's manor back in Daggerfall.

"_What was that dumb excuse about Shadowmere being sick?"_ suddenly asked the voice in her head.

"_Well, it is kind of true, isn't it? She is definitely sick. And anyway, what else could have I told him? 'My horse is a psychopath'?"_

"_Ah-ah… You are SO funny."_ said the voice who then went back sulking in the deep of Sigrid's spirit. The girl smiled to herself and turned her attention toward her meeting with Jauffre.

Her relationship with the Grandmaster has always been… complicated. Sigrid had hesitated to go to see Jauffre at Weynon. After all, he did not know anything about her – except that she was an ex-convict in possession of the Amulet. That would have been enough for him to order her arrest or kill her on the spot. But instead, and to Sigrid's amazement, he had charged her to snatch the last of the Septims from Merhunes Dagon's clutches in Kvatch. From there, the girl had thought nobody would ever dare to question her loyalty to Martin.

But everything turned wrong the day she unwittingly declined Jauffre's invitation to join the Blades and revealed him that she was an active member of the Dark Brotherhood. Sigrid had believed he would not have minded after all she had done, but apparently, she had disappointed him. And despite the fact that, in order to get the Amulet back from Merhunes Dagon's minions, she had risked her life several times, Jauffre had remained cold and distant since then. Needless to say that her meeting with the Grandmaster was not looking good…

After a few minutes – Sigrid tended to get lost with all those corridors – she finally reached Jauffre's office. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Come in" said a voice inside.

Sigrid stepped in. Jauffre was seated at his desk, studying some documents. He looked up when Sigrid entered the room and the expression on his face turned severe. He did not greet her, but gestured toward a seat in front of him. Sigrid sat and waited. Remaining quiet, he considered her for a while.

"_Oye, he looks like he is having a bad hair day. He knows…"_ thought Sigrid.

"Please, do tell me you have nothing to do with Phillida's murder…" finally said Jauffre.

"_Here we go…"_

"If I say so, I would be lying…"

She gave a start when Jauffre banged both his fists on the table.

"What the hell have you done?"

Sigrid realised it was the first time she had seen Jauffre angry. The Blades Master was usually a very calm person.

"Do you realize in what kind of trouble you have put us? "

"_Us?"_

"Yes, _us_!" spat Jauffre. "What do you think? Just by talking to you, I could be considered by the Legion as your accomplice!"

"And since when the Blades care about what the Legion think?"

Jauffre ignored the question. He stood up and the floor creaked as he started pacing up and down the room.

"Why did you kill him? He was retired! He could not threaten the Brotherhood anymore."

"I was ordered to." Sigrid realised that was a poor justification, but as weak as it was, it was true.

"'I was ordered to'…" repeated Jauffre, mimicking Sigrid's voice. "And what if you were ordered to kill Martin?"

"I would refuse, you know it!" said Sigrid in indignation.

"One cannot serve two masters…"

"That's perfectly true, Jauffre." Sigrid replied as calmly as she could, but she was already boiling with anger "That's why my fidelity ultimately resides in Martin." She deliberately had not mentioned the Imperial throne. Jauffre considered her severely.

"From now, I don't want you to go anywhere near Martin without my consent. Is that clear?"

"No, it is not! Your reproaches are unjustified, Jauffre!" Sigrid jumped from her chair and walked toward the Grandmaster. "I understand you're quite upset by Phillida's murder, but haven't I proved my loyalty to the last of the Septims? What should I do for you to trust me!"

"How dare you talking about 'loyalty' after murdering a true faithful servant of the Imperial throne!"

Now face to face, they were both yelling at the top of their voice. Behind the office door, the guards on duty exchanged an eloquent look and decided of a common accord to slip away quietly.

"So, you want to talk about loyalty? Let's talk about it then!" Sigrid snarled. "Who brought you the Amulet of the Kings – the Amulet that _you _lost! Who has been spending the last few weeks trying to retrieve the ingredients for the ritual that will allow someone – guess who? - to hunt Mankar Camoran in his Paradise! And I am not asking you who went to Kvatch risking her life to save the heir of the Septim throne – thus offering the Blades their last chance to justify their existence!"

Sigrid had to stop to get her breath back. Jauffre was looking at her as if she had slapped him in the face.

"_Wow…"_ said the voice in Sigrid's head. _" I am impressed. You've insulted both Lachance and Jauffre within a day. Well done!"_

Jauffre walked back as a somnambulist to sit behind his desk. He then took a deep breath and buried his face in his hand. Now that her anger had evaporated completely with her outburst, Sigrid was feeling deeply embarrassed. Hesitating, she bit her lips and finally walked toward the desk to sit in front of Jauffre.

"Er, Jauffre?" she ventured.

Taking another deep breath, he raised his head from his hand and looked at her.

"Did you come here to tell me that?" His tone was absolutely neutral.

"Er, no. Actually, I came here to ask you some information on… the Dark Brotherhood."

She had expected him to explode again at the name, but he didn't. His calm was probably more frightening than his wrath.

"What do you need to know?" he asked quietly.

"Well, do you, or the Legion – or actually any official have a mole in the Brotherhood working there to destabilize it?"

"No." he replied flatly.

"Really? Not even the Morag Tong or the Fighters' Guild?"

"The Morag Tong is still rather busy at the moment, with all the political changes that are happening back in Morrowind. The Fighters' Guild is currently more interested in the Blackwood Company than on the Brotherhood. As for the Legion and us, well, you're well aware that we have other problems to deal with at the moment…"

"But, apparently, the mole has been active since quite a lot of time…" Sigrid objected.

"I am categorical" he cut her. "There is NO mole, dormant or active, working for any of the official organisations you have mentioned…" He had sardonic grin. "As for the unofficial ones, well, I may not be the most indicated person to ask…"

There was an awkward pause. Jauffre had just made an obvious reference to the Mythic Dawn and the Blades' inability to have identified it as a threat for the Emperor and his sons.

"Jauffre, I…" started Sigrid.

"No, please, don't say something like 'I am sorry', because I know you're not. Now, if you'll excuse me…" he said, gesturing at the piles of documents on his desk. Sigrid opened her mouth to say something but changed her mind at the last moment.

"_Everything I would say will just make things worst…"_

She left Jauffre's office without turning back and with the feeling that something had been definitely broken.

**777777777777777777 **

When Sigrid got to the main hall, Martin was not there. After having looked everywhere in the building, she finally decided to check the esplanade where she found, despite the cold, a shirtless Baurus fencing against an equally shirtless Martin. Sigrid stopped and watched them for a while. They were both training with katanas, she was surprised to see that despite his religious training, Martin was quite fit and experienced in the art of fencing.

Her face turned red when she realised what she was actually admiring was the way the light of the torches was playing on Martin's muscles rather than his fencing skills.

"_Hmm, you kind of like him, don't you?"_

The voice which just had resounded in her head did not sound like the usual one. This one appeared sweeter, warmer, and more… sensual.

"_Who the hell are you?"_

"_I am your libido. Nice to meet you."_

"_My WHAT!"_

"_Your li-bi-do." _saidLibido learnedly. "_You know, the vital energy emanating from people's sexuali…"_

"_I am perfectly aware of what 'libido' means, thank you!"_ spat Sigrid.

"_That's good then. Because I am getting rather bored in here, you see."_ Libido replied. _"So, if you could just to show him that you have some interest in him, like wiggling your hips and emanating some pheromones."_

"_Are you mad?"_

"_Fine, fine…! If you don't want this one, we still have Mister Lachance. And please don't tell me you are not curious to see what he looks like under his hood and robes…"_

"_Go away, you…you whore!"_

"Hey Sigrid!" said Martin.

All busy with her inner confab, she did not notice that Martin had stopped fighting and was now walking toward her. He had put his shirt back and Sigrid's libido gave a little disappointed _"Oh…"._

"Er, hello Martin." she said, hoping that the obscurity would hide her agitation. "Hi Baurus!" she added as the Blade materialised behind Martin.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had to give some kind of musical show at the Leyawiin Castle…" Martin Septim asked.

"Well, er, yes, but finally I had to cancel it…" She did not want to develop on the real reason of her recent stay at Leyawiin.

"Anyway, it's good to see you again."

Martin smiled, and Sigrid felt her inside melting. She was more attracted to Martin than she wanted to admit, and she was sure that her feelings were shared. But what would the heir of the Imperial throne do with an assassin? And anyway, there was no time at the moment for slap and tickle.

"Anything new on the Mysterium Xarxes?"

Martin paused, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Well, I think I have identified the last artefact we need for the ritual, but I feel you and Jauffre will not like it at all…"

"What is it, then?" Sigrid asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I need to talk to Jauffre first. But I will let you know when…"

Baurus, who had been jumping from a feet to another during all their conversation, gave a polite cough behind them.

"Do you guys mind if we continue that discussion _inside_? I am freezing out here…"

"You two get inside. I am afraid I have to go." Sigrid sighted.

She tried to ignore the disappointment on Martin's face. A day had already passed, and she had made only little progresses in her enquiry. She could not afford losing time, even if it was with Martin…

Shadowmere, who had stopped sulking, was now calmly walking toward them. Sigrid stroked the horse neck and mounted her nimbly.

"I am sorry I have to leave so quickly. There are some… issues I need to resolve but I will try to be back as soon as possible." Sigrid said to Martin.

"Be careful, then." he sighted.

"Don't worry. There is not much I have to fear when Shadowmere is around… Apart from her, I mean…"

Shadowmere neighed in a evil way.

"What a… an interesting animal" said Martin diplomatically.

"You'd be amazed at what she can do." said Sigrid. She saluted him and set off at a gallop toward Bruma's city walls.


	4. Strange encounter

Not far from Bruma and the Cloud Ruler Temple, Lucien was leaning against a tree, his arms crossed. The night was very quiet, apart from the regular squeals of birds of prey hunting.

Right after his meeting with Sigrid Trencavel, he had sent a message to the Ungolim, the Listener, to let him know he needed to see him as soon as possible. Lucien had carefully avoided mentioning the object of the meeting as he wanted to discuss it face to face with Ungolim.

The Speaker experienced a brief shot of anger when he remembered his discussion with Trencavel. He had not expected her to react that violently. But nor had Lucien expected that _he_ would feel deeply hurt at Trencavel's taunts about his abilities as Speaker. True, the last events had put him under pressure, but he had always praised himself for his ability to control his emotions.

"_What does she think? That I am pleased to see a life's work ruined?" _

He took a deep breath and smiled. At least, she had responded as he had wanted her to. He was almost certain that Trencavel's attachment to the Cheydinhall sanctuary's members would push her to find a way to save them.

Lucien knew the four days he had granted her were not much, but this was basically the amount of time it will take the Black Hand to get informed of the modification of their initial plan – the Purification. So, even if the Hand disagreed with Lucien's decision, it would still leave Trencavel with enough time to carry out her investigation before being intercepted by the rest of the Brotherhood.

"_Well, in theory…"_ He sighted. There were two many variables he could not control.

Lucien tried to bring back some life in his hands by rubbing them against one another. The nights in the north of Cyrodiil were quite cold and standing there was not the best way to warm up.

Ungolim had agreed to meet him near Bruma. This had surprised Lucien, for Bruma was not exactly close to Bravil. The Speaker had wondered first the reason that had pushed Ungolim to leave his post near the Lucky Old Lady statute. But the visit Lucien had paid J'Ghasta - Bruma's Kahjit Speaker - earlier in the evening had brought him the answer. Apparently, Lucien had not been J'Gahsta only guest today…

"_If our Most Honourable Listener wishes to play dirty, well, he will certainly have what he wants…"_

Lucien stood up straight as he heard some hoof beats on his right.

"_Two sets of hoof beats"_ he corrected himself mentally. He frowned. Ungolim was supposed to come alone. Lucien managed to identify the silhouettes as they were coming nearer. The first horse was mounted by Ungolim. The Listener was relatively tall for a Bosmer. He was wearing his set of black robes, and his longbow was visible in his back. The second horseman appeared to be the Dunmer Alval Uvani, another Speaker, who was also the Listener's Apprentice. The two men dismounted their horses and walked toward Lachance.

"Dear brothers…" started Lucien.

"Would you mind letting me know why you have requested a meeting with me?" asked Ungolim curtly, without bothering to reply to Lachance's greetings.

Lucien gritted his teeth. The relations between the two men had never been good, and the Black Hand was in fact deeply divided between Ungolim and Uvani on one side, and J'Ghasta and Lucien on the other. As for Arquen, the last Speaker, she was trying to carefully balance both sides, according to her own agenda…

The motives for Lucien and Ungolim's reciprocal dislike were numerous, but the main problem was in term of personality conflict. Lucien, with his soft but stylish manners and his aristocratic physique, was very popular among the Brotherhood members. The Speaker had learnt how to use that capital of sympathy. He often took the liberty to voice his disagreement – always politely – with the Listener's decisions, and Ungolim could less and less tolerate what he considered as a personal challenge to his influence.

But despite some inevitable internal tensions, this situation had remained stable for years. Until the traitor starts to strike… For some reasons, all the clues seemed to converge toward Lucien, and Ungolim was not the kind of man to let such opportunity to slip away from his clutches. Lucien knew that the Listener was patiently working behind his back to undermine his supports within the Dark Brotherhood, but Ungolim's visit to J'Ghasta this afternoon was his last provocation. Ungolim had threatened the Khajit with the most terrible troubles if he continued to support unwittingly "a man on whom strong suspicions of treason were hanging over".

"_You should be careful." _J'Ghasta had told Lucien_. "If Ungolim is not pointing at you as the traitor already, it is only because he is lacking physical evidences_… _And believe me, he will do his best to find them."_

Trying to remain calm despite Ungolim's impoliteness, Lucien replied:

"It is about my new Silencer, Sigrid Trencavel, Honourable Listener. I met her this morning and she…"

"So, have you arranged matters with her?" asked Ungolim, interrupting him once more.

"Well, I have _kind of_ arranged matters with her, yes..."

Ungolim narrowed his eyes and watched him carefully.

"What do you mean by 'kind of'?"

"She felt that the Purification ritual was maybe a bit… premature. That's why she proposed me to enquire on the traitor. And I have accepted her offer."

Ungolim was watching him, mouth agape. Lucien smirked internally. _"Man, when will you learn to get a grip on yourself?" _

"I am amazed at that little fool's arrogance. How dared she put into question orders from the Black Hand?" Ungolim stopped and a sneer appeared on his face. "Oh, but obviously, she must have learned that from you…" he added with a sickenly sweet in his voice.

To Ungolim's great annoyance, Lachance took the blow stoically. His ability to remain calm in most of situations was clearly getting on the Listener's nerves.

"I have granted her four days to carry out her investigations. And I have also given her permission to meet the members of the Black Hand." Lucien said.

"I can't believe it. Are you telling me you encouraged her disobedience, then?" Ungolim was now clearly angry.

"_Yes, I did."_ thought Lucien. _"Because if I had asked you to carry out that investigation myself, you wouldn't have let me, would you? You did not want me - or anyone else - to find out the traitor's identity, because you would have lost the opportunity to_ _wipe out my sanctuary_ _and thus__to_ _put me in a very weak position…"_

"Her proposal seemed quite sensible to me and we were in a hurry, so that is why I took this initiative." Lucien said aloud.

"That is the main problem with you, my dear Lachance. Your inclination to take non-concerted initiative!"

Apparently looking unconcerned, Uvani was watching their quarrel silently.

He had always wondered why the Night Mother bothered with such inferior races as the Imperials, Nords, Khajits, Argonians and above all, the Orcs. The Bretons were worth a little bit more in his eyes only because they were half-Elves. Uvani had never considered himself as a racist, but one had to admit that all Mers were superiors to the other - ah! – "Sapient" species. The only noticeable exception was his own Silencer, Shaalez, an Argonian. Uvani had never minded much about her race because her sadistic and homicidal behaviour had turned her into a perfect killing machine.

The Dunmer looked at Lachance. His innocence or guilt – and Uvani thought Lachance was actually innocent - did not really matter at the moment. Even if that issue was most concerning, at least it had given him and Ungolim the opportunity to get ride of this most annoying Speaker. Moreover, Lucien's idea to let his silencer enquire without consulting the Black Hand will definitely alienate him Arquen and the Night Mother. He would then be excluded of the Black Hand ranks, one way or another…

That would then allow Ungolim and him to fill Lachance's vacant rank with a more flexible individual – Shaleez was all designated for the job. Beside, Uvani would make sure the Argonian would choose a Silencer that will suit his interest. The Dunmer Banus Alor would be perfect…

Uvani sighted inwardly. Of course, one may have accused him and his master of endangering the Brotherhood for petty problems of personal rivalry. But Uvani was convinced that individuals issued from sub-races, like Lachance and J'Ghasta, were far more threatening to the Brotherhood than the traitor. As for the latter, his time would come…

Having noticed a sign from Ungolim, the Listener's apprentice put an end to his thoughts and quietly moved behind Lachance.

"Now, listen to me carefully." Ungolim hissed. The Listener's face was now barely an inch from Lucien's. "Whatever the conclusions of your Silencer's investigations may be, she will have to die by your hands. The Black Hand cannot tolerate such kind of insubordination from one of its members. Nevertheless, as I am not a completely heartless, and if Trencavel succeeds in identifying the traitor, I will try to see if the Purification can be cancelled… As for you, the Black Hand will determine the appropriate punishment you deserve for your inconsiderate initiative and your lack of judgement." An unpleasant smile appeared on the Listener's face. "I can't predict the future, but I have the feeling that the Cheydinhall sanctuary will soon need another Speaker…"

Lucien had noticed that Uvani had taken place behind him. _ "If you think I am stupid enough to attack you and thus give you a good excuse to kill me, you are kidding yourself…" _he thought.

"Did I make myself clear, my dear brother?" Ungolim asked.

"Perfectly clear, Most Honourable Listener" replied Lucien, swallowing both his pride and hate.

"Good."

The Listener made a gesture to his apprentice, and the two men walked back to their horses. Lucien looked at them vanishing in the dark. He waited until he was sure they were gone, and then turned to the next tree and punched it angrily. He knew it was perfectly childish, but he felt a bit better.

"_Things are not looking good"_ he thought while massaging his aching fingers.

But there was still some hope. If Trencavel managed to confound the traitor, the Cheydinhall's sanctuary may be saved and even he may be able to save his neck…

An unusual thought crossed his mind. As ruthless as he was, he suddenly felt sorry that the only person who was be able to save them all was irremediably condemned…

**7777777777777777777777777777 **

Sigrid was walking in Bruma's streets, and her thoughts were not happier than Lucien's.

"_One day has already passed, and I haven't progressed much in my enquiry…"_

What would exactly happen if she could not identify the traitor? As she was determined not to "purify" the Cheydinhall sanctuary, the Black Hand would certainly sentence her to death… Sigrid wondered whether Lachance would attend himself to her elimination. More likely, his innate sense of sadistic sophistication would push him to send after her the members of the Cheydinhall sanctuary – before killing them all once their duty done. Sigrid tried to imagine herself planting her dagger in Gogron's stomach, but failed. Would her fellow brothers and sisters have the same scruples? Nothing was less sure…

"_You should focus on your mission rather than on what would happen afterward… You have been wandering around for an hour and there are still no sign of J'Ghasta"_ said the voice in Sigrid's head.

The girl frowned inwardly. She had thought that finding a Khajit in Bruma would not be too complicated. After all, they were not renowned for being fond of cold weather... But she could not locate him and refused to ask anyone as she did not want to drag any kind of attention.

Sigrid was resigning herself to go round the city for the fourth time when someone spoke behind her.

"Oh, please, don't tell me you're going to spend all night walking round and round…"

She turned back to find herself facing… a wall.

"I am up there, you little fool…" said the voice.

Sigrid looked up to see a figure sitting on the top. She quickly moved back as it noiselessly landed in front of her.

"Looking for me, aren't you?" said the silhouette mockingly.

The girl could not clearly see the face of her interlocutor, as he was still hidden by the shadows. But she could clearly distinguish his tail and pointy ears.

"Er, what is the colour of night?" asked Sigrid. Lachance had not told her that there was any kind of sign that allowed recognition between the Brotherhood members. But she had assumed that the question ritually asked to any new member would do.

"We both perfectly know the answer is 'sanguine', my dear…"

The figure made a step in the moonlight. He was definitely Khajit, although it could have been hard to tell first with all the pieces of clothes he was wearing. All she could really see were his eyes, stuck between a scarf that was covering his muzzle and the wooden bonnet he had turned down to his eyebrows. Sigrid tried not to laugh as she noticed the bonnet had two holes for the Khajit's ears to fit.

"Are you J'Ghasta, Bruma's Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood?" she asked.

The Khajit rolled his eyes, amused.

"And who do you think I am? Dibella's avatar?"

"Have you been following me for a long time, Speaker?"

"For quite a while, yes." replied J'Ghasta, smiling and grabbing her by the arm. "And we shall not talk here. Let's get out of town."

Without waiting for Sigrid's reply, he led her toward the closest city door. Once outside, they walked silently for a while, the snow creaking under heir feet. When he estimated they were far away from town and intrusive ears, J'Ghasta stopped and turned toward Sigrid.

"We should be fine here. Now, what an old Khajit can do for you?"

Sigrid thought that J'Ghasta did not seem that old, but it was always hard to tell with Khajits and Argonians.

"Well, first of all, dear Speaker, I should introduce myself. I am..."

"Sigrid Trencavel, Lucien Lachance's new Silencer, whom he has charged to enquire on the traitor that has infiltrated the Brotherhood." said J'Ghasta quickly. "I know. I saw Lucien this afternoon. He told me everything."

"_What does he mean by 'everything'?"_ the girl thought. Anyway, whatever Lachance had told him, it would probably make things easier…

"You probably know as well why I need to talk to you, then."

"Not quite so. If you think I will be able to give you useful information on the traitor, you are losing your time…"

"Well, maybe at least, you could answer that question: what is a 'Silencer'?"

J'Ghasta watched her for a while, looking rather astonished. Then he burst out laughing.

"What did I say that is so funny?" asked Sigrid, quite vexed.

"Lucien did not tell you?" asked J'Ghasta between two laughs.

"No, he did not." said Sigrid coldly. "And if I may say, I tend to find his fondness for secrecy a bit annoying…"

"Yes, I know Lucien can have that effect on people… As for your question, a Silencer is a Speaker's personal assassin. Only members of the Black Hand know about their existence."

"Oh, I see…" Sigrid was not sure whether it was a good or a bad news.

"Is there anything else I can do for you… Silencer?" asked the Khajit, with a bit or irony in his voice.

"Actually, yes. I have heard that a member of the Black Hand has been assassinated recently, probably by the traitor. Could you please tell me more about that?"

The question was a real let-down for J'Ghasta. His face became suddenly grave.

"Rumours are spreading fast, aren't they?" he said warily. "Well, yes, a member of the Black Hand had been executed. In fact, it is this very murder that had made us realised the Brotherhood had been infiltrated..."

"And…Who was the victim?" Sigrid asked.

"His name was Blanchard and he was a Silencer. We believed he was assassinated by the traitor because he apparently got killed _after_ he fulfilled his contract. Some guards witnessed the murder, but unfortunately, he was hooded…"

"But…Didn't you just told me that only members of the Black Hand knew about the Silencers' existence? Would that mean that…?"

"… the traitor is a member of the Black Hand? That would be the only logical conclusion, yes."

Sigrid looked stunned. If her assumption was true, that meant that the traitor was not in the Cheydinhall sanctuary anymore and that the Purification was thus not motivated any longer...

Another thought suddenly crossed her mind.

"Do you know, by any chance, who in the Black Hand comes from or is linked to the Cheydinhall sanctuary?"

"Hmm, well, apart from you, there is Lucien, of course. But also my own Silencer – Mathieu Bellamont – and I think that Ungolim, the Listener, is originally from Cheydinhall…"

"I am sorry, Speaker, but there is something I just don't understand." Sigrid said softly. "If our conclusions are correct, only three individuals could possibly be the traitor, all of them being members of the Black Hand. How comes then that you have ordered the Purification of the Cheyndinhall sanctuary?"

J'Ghasta paused and looked at Sigrid. _"Going straight to the point, eh?"_ he thought.

A few years back, such behaviour would have cost her a good trashing. But J'Ghasta was old, and tired. Tired of all those plots and intrigues within the Black Hand. All he was looking for was doing his job – that is to say kill people for money and fun. Lucien was right. To make things happen in a world where everybody was thinking in curved lines, they needed the intervention of someone who thought in a _straight_ line. And Trencavel was definitely that kind of person.

"Look, things are lot more complicated than that." said J'Ghasta. "First, apart from your reasoning, you can't prove anything. And there are elements that you don't…"

J'Ghasta suddenly froze. He had just realised that, around him, all the colours seemed to have been drained, leaving the surroundings in a shade of greys. A sudden smell of rotten flesh invaded his nostrils.

The Khajit turned toward Sigrid to ask her if she had noticed the strange phenomena, but the girl was looking at something on her right. J'Ghasta noticed that she was shivering, and he followed her gaze until his eyes identified a dark silhouette standing on the top of a small hill. The figure appeared to be a skinny man with long and white hair. His face was shaded by a large felt hat, but the Khajit could see his eyes burning in the shadows, like two candles. The most striking thing about the apparition was the scythe it was holding in his hand: a scythe with the cutting edge of the blade turned _outward_.

"What the…?" the Khajit murmured.

Despite the growing feeling of alarm he was experiencing, he started running toward the figure but stopped as he heard a noise in his back. He turned and realised that Sigrid had collapsed on the ground. J'Ghasta kneeled near her. Her face was pale and cold. Actually, she looked as if she was dead.

"Sigrid? Hey, Sigrid, can you hear me?" J'Ghasta asked anxiously, shaking her by the shoulders. She did not react. The Khajit looked around him. Everything had come back to normal. No more strange smells or colours. But in deep in the Jerall mountains' valleys resounded the creaking noise of a cart's axles…

**777777777777777777777777**

Sigrid groaned as she came slowly back to her sense. She cautiously explored with her hands the support on which she was resting. Apparently, it was a bed. The atmosphere around her was rather hot. Somebody had lighted a fire somewhere. By the noise and the warmth it was giving off, her host was burning away in the heart the equivalent of a small forest …

"Silencer?" asked a voice on her right.

"Yes?"

"How do you feel?"

"Er, I am fine I guess…Did I already ask where I was?"

"No, you didn't" said the voice Sigrid's brain finally identified as J'Ghasta's.

"Where am I then?"

"In Bruma. At my place..."

Sigrid slowly opened her eyes to see the Khajit's face bending over her.

"Welcome back among the living." he said, smiling.

The room started to spin before Sigrid's eyes as she tried to sit up. When she finally managed to focus, she suddenly realised the upper part of her Dark Brotherhood leather armour was missing and that all she was wearing were her undergarments…

"Arrgh!" she yelled while hastily folding the bed sheet over her chest.

"Er, sorry. I took your armour off." J'Ghasta explained with apologising smile on his face. "I thought it would help you to breathe…"

He walked toward a chair on which Sigrid's armour was hanging and threw it on the bed. The girl snatched it and turned to the wall to put it back.

"What happened? I feel a bit confused…" she asked while struggling to put her armour back.

"Well, we were talking when suddenly everything went weird around us." said J'Ghasta. "And there was that strange creepy guy…"

Sigrid felt a lump coming to her throat as the last events of the evening came back to her mind.

"Then you just passed out." J'Ghasta continued. "You really looked as if you were dead. I had to drag you all the way to Bruma. Fortunately, young Bellamont here gave me a hand." He gestured toward a figure Sigrid had not spotted before.

"_J'Ghasta's Silencer…"_ Sigrid looked at Mathieu Bellamont closely. He was a young fair-haired man. As all Bretons, he was not especially tall, and he even looked smaller than many as he was a little stooped. His facial expression made him look like a beaten dog and, more generally, some kind of sad mugginess was emanating from him. But there was definitely something hard in his gaze. He was fixing Sigrid in a way that made her feel ill at ease.

"Er, thank you." she said to Bellamont.

"You're very welcome" he replied to Sigrid.

"_Even his voice had something tearful."_ she thought as Bellamont turned toward J'Ghasta.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Speaker?" he asked the Khajit.

"No thank you, Silencer. You may go…"

Bellamont saluted them both and left the room. They heard him walking down the stairs. J'Ghasta waited for the footsteps to die away and then he turned toward Sigrid.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"Er, I apologise, dear Speaker, but what was _what_?"

"You perfectly know what I am talking about. It is not everyday you have the privilege to see a legendary character materialise in front of you… And what a character! The _Ankou_ himself!"

Sigrid swore inwardly. She had not expected a Khajit to know that much about the _Ankou_, Death's servant according to Breton folklore.

"What makes you think it was the _Ankou_?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the scythe with the blade turned on the _outside_ or the typical creaking noise of his axles' cart…" he said sarcastically. "Now, have you experienced this kind of phenomenon before?"

"Yes, I have." Sigrid answered reluctantly. _"And more than once"_ she added to herself. She did not want to epilogate on the particular occasions on which the _Ankou_ had appeared to her, especially the one in Leyawin.

"And does it have always the same strong effect on you?" J'Ghasta asked again.

"No, not really. I mean, I have never fainted before…"

The Khajit considered her for a while, looking pensive. Finally, he sighted and said:

"Let's put that problem aside from now. There are more urgent matters we have to deal with…"

He made Sigrid a sign for her to follow him. He led her toward a table that was set for two, and on which a pot was steaming. She sat and J'Ghasta served her something that he apparently had meant to be a soup, but had the consistence of jelly.

"Excuse me, dear Speaker, but do you know by any chance Gogron and Antoinetta Marie, from the Cheydinhall sanctuary?" asked Sigrid dreamily while giving the 'soup' a little with her spoon. It went _blub_.

"No, not personally. But Lucien had mentioned them a few times. Why?"

"Funny, you have the same approach to cuisine as them…"

J'Ghasta gave her a quizzical look.

"Now, let's talk about our traitor issue." he said. "Some in the Black Hand may have reached the same conclusions as you but…"

"Why then ordering the Purification of the Cheydinhall sanctuary?" asked Sigrid while chewing her jelly-soup, which actually did not taste that bad. "If we both agree that the traitor is a member of the Black Hand, killing my fellow brothers and sisters is pointless. And please don't tell me it is because the sanctuary has been tainted, this is the silliest reasoning I have ever heard…."

There was an awkward silence.

"Listen, Silencer." said J'Ghasta softly. "I do appreciate your views on the Black Hand's reasoning abilities, but please don't forget that you are talking about your superiors here. So please, show a bit of respect."

Sigrid blushed. Without looking like it, J'Ghasta had gently but firmly put her back into place.

"But I agree with you on the content." he carried on "The Purification ritual won't help us to eliminate the traitor. However, as I was saying before your little… dizziness, there're elements you're not aware of. For instance, you must know that some may use the traitor's infiltration as a good excuse to eradicate the Cheydinhall sanctuary."

"But…Why would someone do that?" asked Sigrid, dumfounded.

"The Brotherhood is an organisation, and as it is often the case when power relations are at work, it has its own problems of conflicts of interest and influence. It is perfectly natural, but what becomes problematic is when personal interests override the common good…"

Sigrid notices that J'Ghatsa's voice had turned resentful on the last sentence.

"So basically, you are telling me that the Purification had not been ordered to protect the Brotherhood, but is simply the result of some dispute between Black Hand members!" Sigrid exclaimed.

"All I am saying is that the Purification may not be _exclusively_ motivated by security reasons…"

"_Oye…"_ thought Sigrid. _"In what kind of mess I have put myself into…?"_ Interfering in internal political disputes was the last thing she wanted to do.

"What kind of person would take the risk to destabilize the Brotherhood in order to satisfy his personal goals…?" she asked more or less to herself.

J'Ghasta smiled.

"The kind of person who would stay at the top of the pyramid if it had to collapse. But that, my dear, you will discover it in due time…"


	5. The man in the cellar

Sigrid Trencavel was sitting at "The Count Arms", Anvil's pub. The atmosphere was stuffy and smelt like old rancid sweat. Behind her, a group of drunken sailors were singing loudly something about a girl called "Manon the wench" who, according to the song, was not wearing much under her skirt…

Sigrid remembered how she had composed that song after a banquet – washed down with plenty of wine, of course. She was not especially proud of it – the Trencavel bards were not especially renowned for their saucy songs – but she had to recognise that this one was one of the most popular of her repertoire…

The Breton girl shot the sailors an annoyed glance – they were singing _very_ badly – before sinking again in the contemplation of the bottom of her glass.

The morning had not been as fruitful as expected. Sigrid had spent a few hours walking around the city, asking people about Maria and showing them the portrait of her she had drawn thanks to Vicente Valtieri's description. After all, if Maria was spending some time in Anvil before her disappearance, somebody may have noticed her presence, what she was doing here, and, with a bit of luck, with whom…

Actually, this part of the plan had worked pretty well. A few people had recognised Maria, and some had even been able to tell Sigrid that she was often escorted by someone – a man apparently.

But the strange thing was that nobody appeared to be able to describe Maria's companion. Not a single detail – race, hair colour… – seemed to have stricken the witnesses.

"_At least, I know for sure that Maria was seeing someone in Anvil._ _And that someone was making a great deal about not being noticed…"_

Even if not a great wizard herself, Sigrid was versed enough in the magical arcane to realise that she was facing a master of Illusion… and possibly the traitor she had been chasing for two days.

The girl reviewed in her mind his three potential identities. First, there was Ungolim, the Listener himself. As the head of the Black Hand, he could have access to many useful information, such as the schedule and missions of all the others members. The second on the list was Mathieu Bellamont, J'Ghasta's Silencer. Apart from the fact that he was coming from the Cheydinhall sanctuary, she did not know much about him and J'Ghasta had not been able to give her more information. And last but not least, there was Lucien Lachance himself… Sigrid's heart sank at the thought.

"_Why should I care? He is just a ruthless bastard…"_

"_Yes, a ruthless bastard you always have tried to impress, haven't you?" _said the voice in her head.

"_I don't know what you mean…"_

"_Oh, come on…! You don't like killing, but you executed all your contracts perfectly anyway, just to impress your brothers and sisters and incidentally Lucien Lachance…"_

"_No, that is not true…!" _Sigrid protested.

"_And part of the reason you joined the Brotherhood is because you wanted to find more about him, didn't you?" _asked again the voice.

"_The main reason I accepted to join them is because I…I needed musical inspiration and I thought I could make a good song out of my adventures among them… But that is not the point! Lachance lied to me!"_

Well, he had not exactly_ lied_ to her. But he hadn't told her everything either… She remembered the few words she had exchanged with J'Ghasta before leaving.

"What are you going to do next?" the Khajit had asked her.

Sigrid had hesitated on what to answer him. After all, she had no certainties she could trust him. The information J'Ghasta had given her may be flawed, and if he was the traitor, they certainly were… But Sigrid had not wanted to take the risk to lie to him, so she finally had told him she was going to Anvil.

"Ah, Anvil" J'Ghasta had sighted. "A nice city, with a very temperate weather…"

"Sorry, Speaker, but before I leave, I have one last question." Sigrid had interrupted the Khajit a politely as she could. After they finished discussing the traitor's issue, she had endured J'Ghasta's stories on how he suffered from Bruma's harsh weather, and she did not want to get trough that _again_. She had other things in mind at the moment…

"Yes? What is it, Silencer?"

"You said Blanchard was a Silencer, but you did not tell me who he was serving before he got murdered…"

For the first time in the evening, the Khajit had clearly looked embarrassed.

"Does it really matter?"

"Yes, Speaker, it does." Sigrid had insisted.

"Well, he…He was working for Lucien…"

Lachance's sanctuary, Lachance's Silencer… Most of Sigrid's clues were converging toward the Cheydinhall sanctuary's Speaker, and this made him number one on Sigrid's very short list of culprits.

"_But that's doesn't make sense… Why did he accept to let investigate on the traitor's identity then?"_

"_Maybe he is trying to cloud the issue, and he is using you because he considers you are not a threat to him anyway…" _suggested the little voicemordantly.

While talking to herself, Sigrid noticed from the corner of her eyes that one of the drunken sailors was coming nearer. He stopped at her side and she felt his hand dropping heavily on her shoulder.

"Hey, pretty one, you seem rather lonely… Are you looking for some company?"

Sigrid took calmly a sip from her glass before she turned toward him. The man was wearing a huge saucy grin on his face.

"No, thank you." she replied softly. "I am not looking for any kind of company, and even if I was, I won't be looking for yours…"

"Look at that, guys! The kitten is showing her claws!" he exclaimed.

His remark created a wave of laughs in the room.

"Now, what is this?" asked the sailor, spotting the portrait of Maria Sigrid had put on the table near her. "Wow, what a babe! A friend of yours?" he added, snatching the portrait and examining it carefully.

"Leave that right now, or _else_…" said Sigrid, standing up. The man grabbed her by the collar and put his face right under hers. The rest of the Inn's consumers had felt silent, enjoying the show.

"Or else what, my dear?" asked the sailor scornfully.

He stopped suddenly, looking rather dumbstruck and then slowly looked down. Sigrid's dagger was less than an inch under his crotch.

"Well, do I need to draw you a picture…?"

It was now Sigrid's turn to smile. She moved her dagger's blade a bit up, forcing the sailor to stand on the tip of his toes. All the males present at the Inn felt their eyes misting over by empathy.

"Now, I am going to leave this place." said Sigrid turning to the sailors' group of friends. "And I don't want any kind of trouble, like an ambush set in a dark and deserted alley… Am I clear?"

Nobody made a move nor said anything. She removed her dagger from the sailor's crotch. He gratefully came back on his heels and retreated quickly from her.

Sigrid arranged her armour and then walked toward the door as fast as her pride allowed her to. But as soon as the Inn's door closed behind her, she broke into a run.

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Hiding behind a pile of barrels in Anvil's harbour, Sigrid was trying to catch her breath back. She raised her head when she heard hoof beats. Shadowmere, whom Sigrid had left near Anvil's main door in the morning, was trotting happily toward her. The girl did not know how the mare had managed to got back to her, but it seemed that Shadowmere was able to find her _anywhere_.

"Ah, here you are!" she said to the mare. "I wished you were with me at the Count's Arms. No doubt they would have thought twice before picking on me with you around. What a bunch of…Oh no! The portrait!" she exclaimed.

Completely panicked, she patted her armour but she knew it was useless. She must have left it at the Count's Arms, forgetting it during her hasty escape.

"_That is SO stupid"_ she thought. _"What I am going to do now?"_

She did not want to get back to the Inn as it would certainly end badly… Plus, she did not want to draw too much attention on her – half of the city already knew she was looking for information about Maria and her mysterious companion. At least, she could still try to draw another portrait from memory, but that would take time.

"Er, excuse me?" said a voice behind her. Sigrid turned around. A young Bosmer boy, whom she remembered to have seen at the Count's Arms, was looking at her, swaying from side to side and looking quite embarrassed.

"What do you want?" she asked curtly.

"Ahem, I… I think you forgot that when you left the Inn." he said while handing her a piece of paper Sigrid immediately recognised as Maria's portrait.

"My portrait!" she exclaimed happily. "But how did you manage to retrieve it from that full-of-wine moron?"

"He dropped it when you… you… well, you know, so all I had to do was picking it from the floor and bringing it back to you." said the Bosmer. He seemed more at ease now he had realised Sigrid was not going to emasculate him on the spot.

"Thank you so much, boy! What is your name, by the way?"

"I am Enilroth and I am working as an apprentice to Varel Morvayn, at his shop, Morvayn's Peacemakers." said the boy proudly.

"Well, Enilroth, here's a coin for being good" said Sigrid, tossing the boy a septim. "And there would be more of them if you tell me what you say about that girl." she added showing him the portrait.

"Well, all I know is that she came to Anvil from time to time – I haven't seen her for a while though… I liked her. She was nice and really pretty."

"And what was she doing in Anvil?"

"Well, I am not sure. You could often see her walking around with that guy…"

"A guy, eh? Could you describe him to me, please?"

"Hmm, he was tall… No, actually, he was not… And he… Oh I am sorry, I just can't remember."

Sigrid tried to hide her disappointment.

"But why do you ask anyway?" said Enilroth, looking at Shadowmere who was beating a mudcrabe to death. Sigrid frowned.

"I am sorry, but… what do you mean?"

"I thought you knew him. You are ridding his horse." replied the boy, pointing at Shadowmere.

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The sun was setting on Anvil, colouring both sky and sea with a gradation of pink and orange. But Sigrid, absorbed once more in her thoughts, was not in a state of mind that would have allowed her to enjoy the scenery.

Sitting by the sea, she had spent the rest of the day thinking about the implications of the Enilroth's revelations. The boy had clearly identified Lachance's horse, which meant…

"…_that your dear Speaker is the man whom Maria used to meet, hence probably our traitor."_ concluded Sigrid's head voice.

The girl replied nothing. She was nervously chewing her thumb's nail, trying to work out what her next step would be. Two days had already passed, and the clues she had gathered were all clearly making Lachance's guilt plain.

"_I need to talk to J'Ghasta…"_ she thought. She would go to Bruma, and expose to the Khajit what she had found out in Anvil. She hoped the body of evidences she had gathered would be enough to support was she wanted to put forward…

"_Yes, that is the most reasonable thing to do."_ she thought. But something was holding her back.

"_What's wrong with you? Everything is framing perfectly. Lachance is the traitor! It is obvious!"_ the voice exclaimed.

"_Oh yes, it is obvious. And that's actually the problem." _

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It was late at night. Enilroth was walking back home, whistling happily. He had left his service at the shop a bit earlier this evening in order to retrieve from the barrel hidden behind the statute the five hundred coins the hooded guy had promised him in exchange for a small service.

Enilroth smiled as he patted his purse. This had been a very good day indeed. Five hundred septims earned within a single day – a little bit more if he added the few coins the Breton girl had given him – without doing much.

The boy passed by a group of people.

"Yeah! All the Serpents wake's crew slaughtered in their sleep…" said a man.

"They say the ship is haunted now." added a feminine voice

"Ah! Don't' count on me to go and check…"

The boy smirked. There were so many things that were haunted in Anvil… Take Benirus' manor, for example.

"_If people continue to give me money like that, I will definitely buy that manor, haunted or not…"_

Enilroth stopped. A shadow had just materialised in front him and he recognised the girl he had met earlier in the afternoon.

"Good evening Enilroth." she said.

He experienced a moment of panic, but finally managed to calm down.

"Er, good evening…" he said eventually. The Breton girl was looking at the purse he was holding by his side.

"You are carrying a lot of cash for someone working as an apprentice…"

"Well, er, yes… I mean no!"

"Who gave you that money?" she asked softly. Enilroth gulped. The girl was smiling in a very unpleasant way. But the hooded man had told the Bosmer not to mention him, or else…

"Nobody! I just…"

Enilroth could not finish his answer as he found himself stuck violently against a wall, his arm twisted behind his back. The point of a dagger suddenly materialised near his left eye.

"I have followed you, Elinor. I saw you taking the purse out of that barrel. So now tell me who gave you that money..."

The young Bosmer started thinking fast. The hooded guy's threats had seemed serious. But he was not here now, whereas this girl and her sharp blade were…

"I don't know who he is, I swear." he said in a tearful voice. "He was hooded when he talked to me."

"And what did he ask you to do?"

"He… he told me that you were looking for information on that girl, Maria. He offered me five hundred septims if I told you that the horse you were ridding was the one of the man who accompanied Maria…"

"And where can I find this hooded man?"

Enilroth hesitated to answer and he moaned as Sigrid tightened her grip on his arm.

"He lives in the cellar located under the lighthouse… Please, don't hurt me!" Enilroth was really on the verge of crying now. Suddenly, he felt the pressure on his arm loosening. When he turned back, he was alone.

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Retrieving the key of the cellar from the lighthouse Master had not been a problem. The simple mention of the Dark Brotherhood had rendered the man quite cooperative, which was a good thing as Sigrid was definitely not in a good mood…

Now standing in front of the cellar's door, Sigrid carefully listened to any sound that could have come from the inside. When she was sure that the few noises she could hear were not the result of any kind of human activity, she turned the key and opened the door cautiously.

The stench smell that had already bothered Sigrid from the outside became suddenly unbearable. She had always praised herself for having a strong stomach, but this time, she difficultly tried to suppress an urgent need to throw up. To make things worst, her intrusion had disturbed a swarm of flies which flied away in a strident buzzing.

"_By Sithis, what is going on here…?"_ she thought, her hand on her mouth and nose in an attempt to protect herself from the flies.

The floor was sticky under her shoes, and Sigrid really did not want to know why it was so… She walked down the stairs, and when she finally reached the cellar, she found the answer to both the smell and sticky floor.

The room was a complete mess, with furniture scattered everywhere. But the worst was to come. Among the bric-a-brac, Sigrid identified the rotten corpses of several animals. Blood had spread on the floors and walls.

"_Oh, yuck, that's disgusting…"_

She walked backwards to avoid walking on the dead animals, and bumped into a bookcase. Something brushed against her cheek and she jumped back in horror as she realised it was a hand. The girl raised her head. A naked body was lying on the top of the bookcase. It must have been here for quite a while, but despite its state of decay, Sigrid managed to identify it as female.

"_Maria?"_ she wondered.

She spotted a door on the other side of the room and walked toward her. Something was groaning behind it. Hand on her sword's hilt, Sigrid opened the door. A dog was lying on the floor, his ears flat on his head in a way that was expressing pure fear. Sigrid noticed two deep and bleeding wounds on its sides.

"Oh, you poor thing…!" she started, kneeling by the wretched creature. She retreated quickly as the dog tried to bit her. It stood up and walked toward Sigrid, baring its teeth at her. The girl stood still. The dog walked round her carefully and suddenly broke into a run toward the upper door Sigrid had left open.

She sighted in relief and took a look at this second room. It was a bit less messy than the first one, but there was another naked corpse lying on the floor, which appeared to be the one of an old man.

"_He is in a better state of conservation than the first corpse. His death must quite recent…" _

Her glance was then caught by what looked like a makeshift altar. Sigrid drew closer and winced in disgust. A head was throning among a bunch of half-burnt candles. The skin had dried on the skull and her hair – it was obvious to Sigrid it was a woman's head – had momified.

"_Wow, the guy has who lives here has a very, very serious issue…"_ she thought, considering the head which seemed to be looking at her through its empty orbits. She turned back and continued to examine the surroundings. Right behind her was a small table on which a book was lying. She took it and started reading.

_Killhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhim_… The first page was fully covered by those two words, repeated again and again.

"_Hmm, that's going to be interesting…"_ thought Sigrid, turning the page and carrying on her reading.

"_Hey, look at that sentence! 'My daddy's hands are red with guilt because he killed the life we built'" _read he voice in Sigrid's head_. "Great, we have a poet!"_

"_Shut up! I am trying to read…" _

From what Sigrid could gather, Lucien Lachance had decapitated the traitor's mother when he was a child – the latter had witnessed it all from under the bed where he was hiding - and now, he was seeking revenge on both Lachance and the Brotherhood.

"_That explains at least why all the clues were converging toward Lachance…"_ she thought. What a sweet revenge indeed! Lachance had deprived the traitor from his beloved mother, so the latter had decided to dispossess the Speaker of what he cared the most about: his position as member of the Dark Brotherhood family.

Sigrid smiled. Now she knew who the traitor was. Ungolim was certainly too old to have been a child at the time, which left her with just one possibility…

She heard some noise behind her. She closed the diary and put it back on the table.

"What a…fascinating reading, my dear brother Bellamont." Sigrid said sardonically while turning toward Mathieu, who had just stepped in.

"You shouldn't have come here. You really shouldn't have…" he whispered. He had taken his blade out of its sheath.

"Why not, pray? I am in such good company!" Sigrid replied gesturing toward Bellamont's mother's skull.

"Why didn't you just leave? You had everything you needed to accuse Lachance…"

"Oh, yes, you made sure of that, didn't you? But honestly, you pushed it too far in your zeal to put the blame on him."

Mathieu's upper lip curled up in something that may be charitably called a smile.

"I reckon the horse thing was probably a bit too much. But you made things easier for me, asking question about Maria with a portrait of her…"

"But it doesn't matter anymore, does it?" Sigrid spat. "Because I am taking with me both your diary and your mother's head as evidences of your perfidy toward the Brotherhood!"

Mathieu Bellamont moved forward and his left hand started glowing as he prepared himself to cast a spell.

"Oh no, my dear, you are not going anywhere, and Mother is staying with me!"

Bellamont threw a fireball at Sigrid but the girl had expected such a move. She ducked and then jumped forward, head first, hitting Bellamont in the stomach. He fell on the ground and rolled on one side to avoid Sigrid's sword. Her blade rattled on the cobblestones. Now crouching on the floor, Mathieu tried to cut Sigrid's back of the knee with his blade, but she was quicker than him. She jumped and kicked him the chest. He retreated, trying to catch his breath back.

"Is that all you can do, dear Brother? Oooh, that's rather disappointing. Mother won't be proud of you…" said Sigrid in a baby voice.

Bellamont's face turned wild. With a mad gleam in his eyes, he rushed toward her.

"DON'T YOU DARE TO TALK ABOUT MOTHER" he yelled while casting a very powerful destructive spell.

Sigrid managed to avoid the electric choc which hit the wall behind her. But she could not do much against the two bookshares that collapsed onto her as a result. Leaving her struggling under the bookcases, Bellamont rushed for his diary and his Mother's head and then to the door he locked behind him. Sigrid - who had finally managed to extricate herself from the bookshares' fragments - ran toward the door and banged on it with her fists.

"It is hopeless, Bellamont! You won't go far! Wherever you hide, the Black Hand will find you!"

She stopped. Some weird noises could be heard behind the door, as if someone was moving something very heavy…

"_He is blocking the door from the outside with all the furniture!"_ yelled the voice in Sigrid's head._ "Try to force the lock now or we are screwed!"_

The girl rushed for her lock pits. On the other side of the door, Bellamont burst out laughing.

"The Black Hand? That bunch idiots? At the time we are talking, they are already hot on the traitor's heels!"

Sigrid's blood turned to ice.

"Wha…What do you mean?" she asked. But unfortunately, she already knew the answer.

"Oooh, don't you know?" Mathieu said mockingly, while continuing pilling up the furniture behind the door. "The dead body of Ungolim, our dear Listener, had been found last night near Bruma! And guess who the Black Hand suspects as the murderer – thanks to that pompous arsehole Uvani? Lucien Lachance!"

"You killed the Listener?" Sigrid asked, mystified.

Bellamont smiled became wider.

"Obviously, and I took great pleasure in doing it. And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go. There is something I wouldn't miss for anything in the world…"

"Bellamont? Bellamont! Come back you little dirty…!" screamed Sigrid.

But he had left, leaving her trapped in the cellar.


	6. Free and framed

**Chapter 6**

The Brina's Cross Inn was one of the most popular places around Anvil. Most travelling merchants used to take lodgings here, and the farm workers of the region liked meeting at Brina's to drink a pint or two after a hard day work. It was cheaper than in the city and, in case of a brawl, you had all the time you needed to slip out before the guards come.

Tonight was no exception. The room was full of people, most of them being men, apart from the waitresses and the kind of girls who often turned up in places with men in need of entertainment.

Among the motley crowd, a man was sitting alone at a table, looking intently absorbed in his reading. The other customers should have wondered why the lone stranger did not join the "party". But as most of them were completely drunk, they did not, which was probably better, because no one could tell what kind of reactions a man reading a treaty entitled "The Art of Poisoning trough Ages" may have…

Actually, Lucien was not reading at all. He had taken the book only to disguise his lack of composure and he was shooting glances around the room regularly. J'Ghasta had left four hours ago and there was still no sign of him.

"_He should have been back by now…"_ Lucien thought.

He looked annoyed when he suddenly realised that he was drumming his fingers on the table nervously, betraying his growing concerned. A lot of things had happened at once. Too many things, actually…

After his very tense – the euphemism of the year – meeting with Ungolim and Uvani, Lucien had ridden back to his lair in Fort Farragut. But he had gotten intercepted on his way home by J'Ghasta who had revealed him that the Listener's had been assassinated. As soon as Uvani, in his quality of Ungolim's apprentice, had been appointed new Listener, he had accused Lucien of being the traitor. The Black Hand was now on his heels, seeking revenge, and Lucien knew too well what that implied...

He was also perfectly aware that letting Trencavel investigating on the traitor would trigger some kind of reaction – and that was the point of the whole operation, actually… – but he had not expected _that_. He was glad that J'Ghasta had offered him his support. Obviously, by doing so, the Khajit was taking the risk of being accused of complicity, but it was definitely worth it.

The Speakers had both agreed to ride to Anvil to find Trencavel, hoping she was now in possession of elements that would allow them to identify the traitor – or at least to exculpate Lucien. But on J'Ghasta's orders, Lucien had stayed at Brina's Cross. According to the Khajit – he had told Lucien about his encounter with Sigrid – Trencavel had started nourishing strong suspicions on Lucien, and it was probably better if J'Ghasta informed her of the situation first.

"Hey, would you mind offering a drink to a lonely girl?" a voice suddenly asked him.

Lucien looked up. A buxom creature was standing in front of him. Her make-up and the kind of dress she was wearing made her job and intentions toward Lucien pretty explicit.

"I am sorry, lady, but I have something else planned tonight." he replied courteously.

"Ah, come one…"

She came forward and started stroking casually his forearm with her finger. Lucien smiled and gently withdrew his arm from her hand. She was quite pretty, with her flamboyant red hair and her unusual violet eyes. Had the circumstances been different, Lucien might have been tempted.

"No, I can't, really. Maybe next time?"

The girl gave a disappointed pout.

"Well, for once there was a decent-looking bloke who seemed to wash on a regular basis…" she sighted. "Fine, dear, but if you change your mind, just ask for Aline…"

She winked at him and turned back. But while Lucien was looking at her vanishing in the crowd with a rolling walk, his glance was caught up by a shadow standing in the corner of the room. Shaleez, Uvani's Silencer, was looking at him. Her grin became larger when their eyes met. With a feeling of panic growing in his chest, Lucien scanned quickly the rest of the place. His heart sank when he spotted Arquen and Uvani sitting at another table, near the exit door.

"_Three of them are already in. They must have entered when I was talking to Aline…"_

He supposed that the rest of the Black Hand was waiting outside, ready to ambush him_…_And "the rest" probably meant Havilstein Hoar-Blood – a Nord built like a mountain and who was serving the Black Hand as Arquen's Silencer – Mathieu Bellamont and probably a third individual, as Lucien was sure Uvani had not lost a second promoting Shaleez as Speaker, who in turn had chosen a new Silencer…

Lucien gritted his teeth. The only reason the Black Hand had not attacked him already was because of the number of people present in the room. As long as he stayed inside, he was safe. But he could not wait here all night – the revellers would eventually go to sleep – and he had to find a way to get out of here without being noticed.

In front of him, Aline was trying her luck at another table. She made a rather saucy remark to the men who burst out into crude laughs. She then provocatively shook her hair which looked liked dancing flames in the room's light.

"_Flames…"_ An idea sprang into Lucien's mind. He smiled and looked down at the candle that had been put on his table to light him while he was reading.

"_Of course! Here is the solution…"_

Hiding behind his book, Lucien gently pushed his candle near the wall on which a wall covering was hanging. The flame was less than an inch from the cloth. It would not set on fire immediately but that was just a matter of time…

Lucien then stood up and nonchalantly walked toward a group of people who were watching a game of dice. He could feel the glances of the Black Hand members on the back of his neck, but he did not dare to look back at them as they could have interpreted it as a provocation…

Lucien wondered whether he would get alive from that situation. He was not afraid of death – as an assassin, he was facing it everyday – but he was not particularly looking forward the kind of demise the Black Hand had planned for him. He bet on his fellow brothers and sisters' imagination for it to be very long and painful.

"Fire!" someone suddenly yelled.

The wall covering had brusquely set on fire. The flames were spreading rapidly to the others hangings and some of the beams were already burning. Incandescent ashes started flying around.

The panic that ensued was beyond description. People started rushing for the door, screaming and pushing, but obviously the exit was too small for everybody to get out at the same time. The air quickly got thick with smoke and Lucien took advantage of the protection it was offering him to turn invisible.

He saw Shaleez struggling in her corner, trying not to be squashed against the wall by the terrorised customers. On his right, Uvani, overwhelmed as well, screamed something at Arquen. In desperation, some people decided to escape through the windows. Lucien slipped through the crowd to the closest one and jumped through it. He landed with suppleness on the ground and started running right in front of him. He could not keep himself invisible for too long, so he had to make sure to put enough space between him and his pursuers.

He finally stopped at the edge of the forest. Turning himself visible again, he leaned on a tree and tried to get his breath back. He could see the Brina's Cross Inn burning in the distance. That was a shame – it was a fine place – but he had no choice. He just hoped that Aline managed to escape.

Lucien passed his hand on his face to brush out the ashes. He stopped and looked down at his clothes. He was _all_ covered in ashes. His eyes widened in horror.

How could he have forgotten that? The invisibility spell was working only on the mage's body and on what was on him _at the moment the spell was cast_. That meant the ashes which had landed on Lucien _afterward_ were visible and so had made him perfectly detectable…

"_Oh no, no…"_ he thought.

Lucien felt a move behind him, but did not get the time to turn back. An arm the size of a trunk grabbed him around the neck and started to strangle him.

"Got you!" said Havilstein Hoar-Blood cheerfully.

Lucien reared and tried to nudge him in the ribs. His feet were not touching the ground anymore. Havilstein tightened his grip on Lucien's throat. The latter gaped, trying to breath, but couldn't. Some red dots started dancing in front of his eyes.

"Nice try, my dear Lachance." said Uvani, who came out of the shadows from where he was hiding. The rest of the Black Hand members silently followed him. They were all covered in soot and seemed rather out of breath.

"The fire was a good idea, but you have neglected a small detail, haven't you?" he continued while brushing off some ashes from Lucien's clothes. "But even without that, we would have found you anyway."

A malicious grin appeared on the Listener's face and he exchanged a knowing look with the rest of the Black Hand. "Now, all we need is a quiet place in order to have a small… conversation."

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"Ok, one more little effort. On the count of three: one, two, threeeee…"

Sigrid pushed the door with all her strength. The veins on her neck swelled and her feet scraped the ground. But the door did not move from an inch.

"_Oh, stop it, will you? You can see it's pointless. The door is blocked, we are trapped here. All we can do now is praying for someone to get down here very soon if we don't want to end up as dead as our friend here…" _said the Voice.

Sigrid tried not to look at the old man's corpse which was still lying behind her. He had been hit by Bellamont's electric spells. His skin had turned into coal and his eyes had melted in their orbits. And to add to the horrific atmosphere, a strong smell of burnt flesh was now emanating from the wretched thing.

"_Well, it could have been worst."_ thought Sigrid, collapsing on the floor, exhausted. "_It could have been _me_…"_

"_I agree." _replied the voice_. "And at least, he will provide us with some food…Roasted meat anyone?"_

"_Please shut up!" _spat Sigrid mentally. _"Instead of saying stupid things, try to find an idea to get out of here."_

She was not claustrophobic, but she had to admit that being trapped in a cellar saturated with the mixed smell of blood, rotten and burnt flesh plus the promiscuity with the corpse were putting her nerves through the mill. And as the Voice pointed out, she did not know when someone would eventually come down to free her. She needed a miracle to get out of the cellar in time to warn Lachance and the Black Hand and to stop Bellamont…

"Hello? Is there anyone here?" a voice asked somewhere behind the door.

Sigrid froze, completely taken aback first, but then jumped right up and started shaking and banging on the door violently.

"Hey! Help! Please! I am stuck down here!" she yelled.

"Trencavel? Is that you?"

Sigrid stopped and frowned, incredulous.

"J'Ghasta? But… what are you doing here?"

"It's a long story. Now get away from that door. I am going to blow away the whole thing…"

"What?" asked Sigrid.

But she did not loose more time asking questions as she heard the characteristic sound of magical energy being concentrated. She jumped behind the "altar" to shelter herself while the door and the furniture that blocked it disintegrated in a stream of fire.

When she was sure it was finished, Sigrid carefully extracted herself from her refuge and tried to find her way trough the cloud of dust. There was a huge hole at the place where the door was standing a few seconds before. The stones of the wall had melted around it and were making a _tinck! tinck! tinck!_ sound while cooling down. J'Ghasta's head suddenly popped up from behind the wall.

"Hey, nice to see you, Silencer!" he said, smiling.

He had swapped his winter clothes – woollen bonnet, scarf and the like – for very simple leather pants. His hands were still smoking from the spell he had just cast.

"_Wow..." _thought Sigrid, looking at the Khajit's hands and then at the hole in the wall._ "Mental note: J'Ghasta is a really skilled mage. Don't piss him off." _

"Er, greetings, Speaker… How did you find me?" she asked aloud, brushing off some dust from her armour.

"It had not been easy, I can't tell you! But Shadowmere showed me the way. What a fantastic horse, really… But let's get out of here."

Sigrid did not need to be told twice. She rushed up the stairs four at a time and welcomed with relief the fresh nocturnal air.

"So, what were you doing here?" J'Ghasta demanded, closing the cellar's door behind him.

Sigrid told him everything. Maria, Bellamont, his Mother's head, his diary, how he was seeking revenge on the Brotherhood and Lucien Lachance and how he had killed Ungolim the Listener…

"Well, at least we know whose soul the Ankou took with him last night…" said J'Ghasta. Sigrid preferred to remain silent. "And what about Bellamont's diary and his mother's head?" the Khajit continued.

"He managed to retrieve them during our fight." replied Sigrid, embarrassed. Once again, she had not been careful enough and she could hear Teineeva's voice in her head "_How many times I've told you…!"_

J'Ghasta looked worried.

"Your evidence may not be enough… We need Bellamont's diary as a physical proof!"

"He must have kept it with him. Apparently, he directly went to meet the Black Hand…And we need to find Lachance before they do!"

"He is waiting for us at an inn, not far from here…"

"Wait a minute…" Sigrid interrupted him, frowning. "He is waiting for _us_? How comes you know where he is? And why aren't you with the rest of the Black Hand by the way?"

The Khajit sighed inwardly. He knew Sigrid was going to ask him those questions, but he did not feel like developing on the subject. And she would find out what was going on soon enough anyway… Well, at least if they managed to save Lucien's neck.

"You ask too many questions… If I am not hunting him with the rest of the Black Hand, it's because I trust him. That's all. And now, if you don't mind, we really should go. When I left Lucien, he was standing in one piece and I really would like to find him again in the same state…"


	7. Bloody night

**Hey everyone :)**

**Sorry for the lack of update (I have been really busy lately...) and thanks everyone for the last reviews. **

**Talking about that, Eyvindr made some very good points I would like to clarify.**

**About the Elsweyr bit in Chapter 1, I mustn't have expressed myself correctly - slap self across the face -.  
**

**All I wanted to say was that Sigrid used to travel with her father and one of their travels brought them to Eslweyr. But Sigrid and her father are definitely Bretons.**

**As for the name "Sigrid", it certainly sounds Nordic (it comes from Norway or Island, I am not sure). But I have always liked it, so that's why I gave my Breton character had a Nordic name. And after all, our dear Lucien Lachance is an Imperial with a Breton name. ;)**

**And indeed, the Lucien/Martin part is going to be very tricky to write about. :D **

**I always enjoy constructive criticism, so please, don't hesitate to R&R !**

**  
**

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The blows were raining on him. Again. And again. And again.

Lucien collapsed on the ground after a particularly nasty one hit him right in the stomach. Doubled up with pain, he saw his torturer coming forward, fist raised, and he braced himself for another flurry of blows…

"Now, that's enough, Shaleez. You should leave enough for everyone to have fun…" said Uvani.

Shaleez suspended her move, clearly looking disappointed, but obeyed her master. She hissed menacingly at Lucien before she walked back, a nasty glow in her eyes.

Lucien sighted with relief. At least, the handover from his former torturer to the new one offered him a few seconds of respite… Panting, he tried with more or less success to straighten up on his knees and looked at the Black Hand members who were discussing whose turn it was to thrash him up.

They had dragged him deep in the woods and stripped him from his clothes. After a rapid simulacrum of trial, his sisters and brothers had condemned him to death – what a surprise…– and now they were taking all their time to execute the sentence…

Lucien had soon stopped trying to avoid or protect himself from the blows – anyway, it was really hard with both hands tied up behind his back. And the more he was struggling, the more the others were getting excited... So he just behaved as the punching ball he had been reduced too, taking blows after blows and trying not too show too much his pain. Lucien only hoped that they soon would get tired of his lack of reactions and would put an end to his ordeal quickly. But, deep inside him, he knew all this was just the beginning. The real fun would start when they would use their blades instead of their fists…

One of the dark silhouettes finally left the group and walked toward him. It stopped by his side and, under the hood Lucien recognised Arquen's piggy face. He had foolishly hoped the Altmer would have support him in his dispute with Ungolim and Uvani. But she had not. Lucien had clearly underestimated her capacity, as a rejected woman, to harbour lingering resentment… If he had known, he would not have turned away her advances.

"Now, Lucien, for the last time, who are you working for? The Legion? The Morag Tong? The Fighters Guild, maybe? " asked Arquen.

Lucien could not retain a smile. Ah, yes! He had almost forgotten about that… Not only Uvani had managed to convince the rest of the Black Hand that Lucien was the traitor, but they also believed he was working for one of the Brotherhood traditional enemies, leaking them vital information and so on.

"All of the above." he said through swollen lips "Plus a few mo…"

He did not manage to finish his sentence. Arquen kicked him violently in the chest and some of his ribs broke in a horrible crack. This time, Lucien could not hold back a scream. He rolled on his side in foetal position, gasping in agony. Through tears of pain, he saw that Arquen had kneeled beside him.

"How could have you betrayed the Brotherhood, after all these years…?" she whispered. There was a pinch of sadness in her voice. She started rubbing Lucien's cheek with two fingers in an almost affectionate way. Teeth gritted, Lucien turned his face away from her hand. Arquen's features hardened suddenly and she slapped him in the face twice. Then she stood up and shot him a look of utter disgust before she walked back toward Uvani and the other Black Hand members.

"Is that all, Arquen?" the Listener asked, sounding clearly disappointed. "I was expecting something more… spectacular and imaginative."

The Altmer took slowly out of her sleeves something a blade that Uvani had never seen before. It was short and its edge, very sharp, was also very convex.

"It is a called a 'skinner'" said Arquen, answering Uvani's interrogative look. "It is a knife used by Nordic hunters to skin and eviscerated animals. This one is a present from Hoar-Blood, my dear Silencer, and I haven't had the pleasure to use it for the first time yet..."

Her fingers ran nonchalantly along the blade and her lips curled up in a nasty smile. "I am curious to see whether Lachance has guts…"

A pitiless laugh burst out from the Listener lips and Arquen's cruel smirk grew wider.

"Still no sign from J'Ghasta?" she continued.

"No, and to be honest, I don't think he will show his face. He is probably very reluctant to attend the disgrace of his protégé." said Uvani, looking with a sneer at Lucien. "But this old moth-eaten fluffy cat won't get out of this unscathed. You can take my word for it!"

"And what about Trencavel?"

"We will deal with her right after we are done with Lachance… By the way, whose turn is it now? No, not you _again_, Hoar-Blood…" said Uvani, rolling his eyes as the big Nord came forward, his eyes full of a hopeful gleam. "I think young Bellamont did not get the opportunity to show us his talents yet..."

Bellamont sighted inwardly. "_Finally!_" he thought. He had remained quietly in the background until now, enjoying every seconds of Lachance's torment and taking his time picturing what he would do to him when his turn would come. All these years of pretending and lying were finally going to pay out.

"Thank you, Most Honourable Listener. I will try to be as entertaining as possible." said Mathieu before walking toward Lachance. He was feeling completely ecstatic now.

"_I wish you were there to see that, Mother…"_ he thought while considering Lucien who was lying at his feet. _"And now, where am I going to start?" _

He toyed for a while with his dagger, juggling with it with one hand, and finally smiled as an idea crossed his mind.

"You know, my dear Lucien," he declared to the company at large, "I have _never_ liked that that ponytail of yours…"

A wave of laughs punctuated his remark.

Bellamont grabbed Lucien by the hair, forcing him to get up on his knees and pulled his head backward. His face illuminated with a grin of unhealthy joy, Mathieu raised his dagger, and...

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The multivers is a wonderful and terrible thing. Here, terms such as "future" or "past" are meaningless. Only "possibilities" really matter. All those possibilities linked the infinity of universes with one another, and the choices of an individual could make a world falling from one universe to another. This is what was happening currently on Nirn.

This story could have taken a different path. Actually, many things could have happened differently. Sigrid may have accepted to carry out the purification. Or she could have come too late to stop the Black Hand. Or again, Shadowmere could have decided to go back to Fort Farragut instead of waiting at the wood edge…

As a result, Lucien would have come to a grisly end, Bellamont would have managed to escape, Sigrid would not have learnt why the Ankou was after her, Tamriel would have been destroyed and, on a lighter note, nor Gogron nor Antoinetta would not have been able to learn proper cooking…

Anyway, to sum it up quickly, the destinies of many depend on the choices only made by a few. It is pretty unfair, when you really think about it…

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…and flew a few meters away as something brutally hit him the small of the back.

The Black Hand members let slipped cries of surprise

"What the…?" exclaimed Uvani. "_You?_"

The Dunmer had just recognised Trencavel. The young girl had got back on her feet and was now standing in front of Lachance, who was lying on the ground, inert.

"Stay away from us, you bunch of psychos!" yelled Sigrid, who had taken her blade out and was pointing it alternatively on the members of the Black Hand.

Uvani recovered from his surprise and relaxed. _"Come one, it's only her… She shouldn't be too hard to deal with."_

"Nice of you to have come here, really…" said the Listener with a thin smile.

"_Really nice indeed. That will avoid us to chase you round Cyrodiil"_ he added to himself while advancing toward Trencavel. Now, he could clearly see that she was looking incensed.

"What have you done!?" shouted the Breton girl, ignoring Uvani's remark. "Lachance is not the traitor!"

This last statement was welcomed by sneers and scornful laughs.

"Isn't he? Prove it then!" spat Arquen.

Sigrid was about to answer back when she suddenly felt something itching her ribs. She slowly glanced backward to realise that Shaleez had sneaked behind her and was now pointing a sword at her back.

"Drop your weapon." said the Argonian in a voice that reminded Sigrid of the sound of a grating door.

The girl shot Shaleez a very dark glance but dropped her sword, which felt in the grass at her feet. Uvani picked it up and played a bit with the moonlight effects on the blade.

"What did you think? That you could defy the Black Hand alone?" he finally asked Sigrid with a derisive tone in his voice. The girl burst out laughing.

"What did I say that is so funny?" Uvani spat, sounding offended.

"Alone, most Honourable Listener? I don't think so…"

Uvani screamed in surprise. J'Ghasta had appeared out of nowhere and had landed heavily on his back. Both rolled on the floor until J'Ghasta got up behind the Listener, holding the Dunmer by the throat, his claws a few inches from his carotid.

"Hello, everyone! Sorry to interrupt your little party… And thanks for the little diversion, Trencavel." said the Khajit cheerfully.

Surprised, Shaleez had lowered her sword and Sigrid immediately took advantage of her inattention. Grabbing the Argonian by her wrist, she threw her elbow right in her face. Half stunned, Shaleez did not put up any resistance when the Breton girl knocked her down with a violent punch in the chin.

Sigrid then rushed to Lachance. Her heart sank when she discovered the extent of the damages. He was in a really sad state, covered in blood, bruises and wounds. But his chest heaved – with difficulty, but heaved. The girl sighted in relief. At least, he was still alive.

But she did not get more time to examine him. Shaleez had come back to her sense and was now getting on her feet. Behind her, Uvani was struggling helplessly to free himself from J'Ghasta's grip.

"J'Ghasta! You… stinky fleabag…!" gargled the Listener.

"Yeah, I love you too, Uvani." said J'Ghasta sarcastically. "Now stop wriggling like that and tell everybody to remain quiet or I swear I will rip your throat!"

"You wouldn't dare!" exclaimed Arquen. She was pale with rage but did not make a move.

"Oooh, I wouldn't dare, wouldn't I?"

J'Ghasta winked at the Altmer and drove his claws a little bit further in Uvani's skin. The Listener winced.

"Do what he says." he panted, a gleam of panic in his eyes now. "And that's applicable to you too, Shaleez!"

The Argonian was creeping toward Sigrid and Lucien, teeth bared and hissing more loudly than ever. She stopped at Uvani's order, but continued hissing in a sinister way at the Breton girl.

"Good! I think everybody is taking us a bit more seriously, now." said J'Ghasta calmly. "Sigrid, give the diary to Arquen, please… And leave Lucien alone, for Sithis' sake! He is not going to vanish into thin air."

Sigrid obeyed reluctantly and walked carefully toward Arquen. Keeping a close eye on Shaleez - who had stopped hissing but was keeping her eyes riveted on the girl - she handed the Altmer the traitor's diary.

Arquen shot Sigrid a penetrating look before she took it and started reading. Banus Alor – Shaleez' new Silencer – and Hoar-Blood had come near the Altmer and started peering at the book over her shoulder, while Shaleez and Bellamont remained on their guards, watching both Sigrid and J'Ghasta.

Silence had fallen on that part of the forest. The only noise that could be heard was the one made by the pages Arquen was turning. And the more the Black Hand members were reading, the more their embarrassment was becoming obvious. Finally, Arquen closed the book and exchanged a discomfited look with her two comrades.

"So, what?" demanded Uvani, still half-strangled by J'Ghasta.

"Well, Most Honourable Listener, it seems that we have made a…a regrettable mistake." said Arquen, looking rather mortified. "This book is a diary – the traitor's diary, actually. His objective was to take revenge over the Night Mother – may Sithis always be with her – and Lachance for the murder of his mother as a child."

"He had planned everything." added Banus Alor, who had remained quiet until now. "The murders had a double use. First, to push us to think that Lachance was the culprit, and then to destabilize us so we would seek the Night Mother's advice… Clever, really!" he continued, sounding almost admiring. "The thing is, the diary doesn't allow us to identify the traitor…"

"It's him!" shouted Sigrid, pointing accusingly at Bellamont. "He told me how he assassinated the former Listener and…"

"You can't charge Bellamont without any evidences…" Uvani abruptly interrupted her. He stopped brusquely as J'Ghasta gently tightened his grip on his throat.

"You didn't bother much with such details for Lachance!" snapped back Sigrid.

"You are not going to believe that hysteric, are you…?" sniggered Bellamont. He had tried to take a relaxed tone but he was pale in the face and one of his mouth's corners was twitching, betraying his growing nervousness. "This story about the traitor looking for revenge because his mother got decapitated is pure non sense! It is obvious she made it up!" He pointed at J'Ghasta. "_They_ made everything up!"

"And why would they accuse _you_ particularly?" asked Arquen softly.

"They are just trying to save their neck. They may have accused anyone!"

Still standing behind Arquen, and not paying much attention to the rest of the dispute, Hoar-Blood was thinking very hard. His wrinkled forehead betrayed his deep concentration. Bellamont had just said something, something that was actually very strange… _Thinking_. That was a rather unusual exercise for the Nord. Hoar-Blood had not joined the Brotherhood because of his amazing reasoning skills but because of his abilities to slaughter fifteen people in less than five minutes. His face lighted up when he finally put the finger on what was disturbing him.

"Er, Mathieu…?" the Nord finally asked. The other stopped arguing and looked at him. "How did you know the traitor's mother was _decapitated_? You did not read the diary with us."

Bellamont froze. All the eyes were now fixed on him.

"Hey, that's true." exclaimed Alor, frowning. "How did you kn…?"

The Dunmer could not finish asking his question. He collapsed on the ground in a spray of blood, his throat slit. The attack had come of all a sudden. Bellamont had hit silently and as quickly as a snake. He turned then toward Lachance, who was still unconscious, brought his arm back and launched his dagger toward him.

But Sigrid was faster. She ran toward Lachance and received the dagger's pommels in the stomach. The shock took her breath away. Bellamont screamed out of rage and started running to escape. But Hoar-Blood and Arquen blocked his way. Bellamont stopped and ran the other way but collapsed on the ground as Sigrid jumped forward to tackle him.

"Trencavel! Watch out!"

Struggling with Bellamont, Sigrid heard J'Ghasta's scream as she rolled along the slope. But it was too late. In the dark, nor she or Bellamont had realised that they were standing in a glade bordered by a small cliff.

They did not manage to stop in time and fell over the edge. It was not very high, but sufficiently enough to take Sigrid's breathe away again when she hit the ground. She let go of Bellamont and both continue to roll a bit along the incline. When Sigrid finally stopped, she stayed lying on her back, stunned. Her ears were ringing, and above her, she could hear that the Black Hand members were yelling something, but she could not get what. She spotted something moving on her right and tried to focus on it.

Bellamont had already got back on his feet. With an unsteady tread, he disappeared in the woods. Slowly getting up, Sigrid took a deep breath and start running after him.

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Shadowmere was definitely _not_ a happy horse. She knew there was a fight going on somewhere – she could smell the blood from there – but the young girl had ordered her to wait for her here, at the wood edge, with the other horses.

But Shadowmere did not like the other horses. They were weak. They were cowardly. And above all, they were stupid.

Coming to that, she did not like that strange girl much either. But she had never dared biting or kicking her. Something was irremediably preventing her from doing so…

The mare snorted sadly. She was really missing the one with the deep warm voice. She did not know why he had left her with the weird girl. After all, Shadowmere had always been a good horse, hadn't she?

Suddenly, the environment around her changed. Shadowmere was not sure about what had actually changed, but that strong smell of death of was definitely not normal…

Her ears pivoted on her head as she heard some footsteps coming in the distance. She could no recognise them. All the frustration she had experienced over the last few days resurfaced.

It doesn't matter to whom those footsteps belonged to. She was ready to give whoever was coming over there a hard time…

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Mathieu Bellamont was now running as if all the Daedric armies from Oblivion were after him.

Actually, he would have preferred _that_ to the Breton shrew who was on his tail.

Bellamont's face twisted with rage. He hated her so much. He hated them all! Trencavel, Lachance, the Dark Brotherhood…They all just could wait! At least, Mother was still with him. Together, they were invincible. They would be back, they would take their revenge, they would…

Nobody, not even Bellamont, ever knew what his mother and he would have done. Too busy with his thoughts of revenge, he had not noticed that the things around him had changed. Nor the smell of rotten flesh nor the sound of a creaking axle had managed to wake him from his monomaniac daydreaming. It may not have saved him, but at least it should have incited him to more carefulness…

The last thing Bellamont saw, as he reached the wood edge, was an equine bottom quickly eclipsed by a pairs of hoofs coming toward his face at _very_ high speed.


	8. A New Start

Sigrid had lost Bellamont from sight but she perfectly knew where he was running to.

"_The little bastard is certainly not going to leave without his dear Mother's head…"_

She remembered the small spheric object carefully packed J'Ghasta and she had found in Bellamont's horse's holsters… The Khajit wanted to take it along with the diary, but Sigrid had made plain to him that there was _no way_ she was going to touch _that thing_.

While running, she had noticed the now familiar phenomenon which was surrounding the apparition of the Ankou. She was not sure when it had started exactly – probably when that Dunmer from the Black Hand got killed – and a feeling of alarm overcame her.

"_The last thing I need now is to drop unconscious…" _

But everything came back to normal as quickly as it had started, just leaving her a bit queasy. Yet the feeling of anguish was still very present. Death Servant was not renowned for coming out for nothing. And if somebody was already dead, that did not mean that nobody else was going to die…

Sigrid slowed down as she approached the wood edge. Peering from behind a bush, she looked at the horses which were grazing down peacefully.

"_One, two…"_ Sigrid started counting mentally.

She stopped and frowned. All the horses seemed to be there... She got out from her hiding-place and entered the glade carefully. On her guards, she glanced nervously around. But the attack she was expecting did not come.

"_Come on… He did not flee without his horse, did he?"_ she thought.

One of the horses trotted toward her and the girl immediately recognised Shadowmere.

"Shadowmere? And what is…? Eewww…!"

Sigrid had just spotted Bellamont's body on the floor. Well, at least she supposed it to be Bellamont's. It was quite hard to say as the corpse's head was just a bloody mess of flesh, pieces of bones and other things Sigrid tried her best not to identify.

The girl looked up to Shadowmere, then to the corpse and then to Shadowmere again. Sigrid knew she was not a killer deep at heart, but frankly, in that particular case, she wished she had been left with enough time to show Bellamont the extent of her great discontentment. With the help of a very sharp blade…

"You did that only to bother me, didn't you?" Sigrid asked the mare resentfully.

The girl would have sworn the horse had just flashed her a smirk, but she did not get more time to ponder over the subject as she heard some footsteps behind her. The Black Hand members were walking toward her and the Altmer called Arquen planted herself in front of Sigrid.

"Where is Bellamont?" she demanded.

Sigrid pointed silently at the body which was lying a few feet ahead on the ground. Arquen raised an eyebrow at the sight of the mess. She was about to say something when a massive silhouette towered over her. Sigrid immediately recognised Havilstein Hoar-Blood.

"Is Bellamont dead?" he asked.

"People who are alive and well usually don't have half of their brain splashing the ground…" replied Sigrid.

If Hoar-Blood had never been good at irony, Arquen, on the contrary, was familiar with sarcasm. Her lips pursed in disapprobation, but Sigrid did not care. She was exhausted, she was hungry and all her body was still aching from her fall from the cliff, so she did not fell like making efforts to handle carefully the ego of that stupid Altmer.

Having felt Sigrid's hostility, Arquen wisely decided not to insist and walked toward the corpse, quickly followed by the rest of the Black Hand. Uvani and Shaleez shot the girl a look of pure hatred as they passed by. Sigrid tried to look as if she ignored them, but her blood turned to ice.

"_Those two aren't done with me yet…"_ she thought. She had the clear feeling she had just made herself two mortal enemies. And there were still no sign of J'Ghasta and…

"Sigrid!" a voice suddenly exclaimed.

She turned to realise that the Khajit was standing at the wood edge, supporting a conscious Lachance, who, despite his wounds, was more or less standing up. Sigrid hurried toward them but something overtook her on her right, jostling her as it went by. Shadowmere neighed happily as she trotted toward her master.

"Shadowmere…" Lachance whispered with a smile as the horse rubbed her muffle on his cheek affectionately. He gently pushed J'Ghasta away and wrapped his arms around the mare's head, planting a kiss between her eyes.

"Well, I am glad to see you too, Speaker…" said Sigrid bitterly as she was coming near them.

"Ah, don't be jealous…" replied J'Ghasta, smiling and patting her on the back. "Where is Bellamont…?"

"He is dead."

"Oh…" The Khajit looked a bit disappointed. "Hmm, you could have wait for us before killing him. That would have been more… appropriate."

"Don't blame _me_!" exclaimed the girl. "If anybody is bad-mannered here, it is that horse!"

"My horse? Bad-mannered?" said Lucien in a weary voice. He was leaning heavily on Shadowmere and his legs were giving way. "It is the pot calling the kettle…"

Bur he did not finish his sentence. Instead, his eyes rolled upwards and he slowly slided down Shadowmere's side. Sigrid and J'Ghasta caught him just before he collapsed completely.

"Stay with him, will you?" The Khajit told the girl as they were stretching out Lachance on the ground. "There are a few things I need to discuss with my dear colleagues…"

"Sure, but please hurry, Speaker." she said, looking explicitly at Lachance.

J'Ghasta nodded and Sigrid look at him walking toward the members of the Black Hand. They were still gathered around Bellamont's corpse, and Arquen was trying to cheer up a very disappointed Hoar-Blood.

"And I did not even get the opportunity to use my axe…" said the Nord, almost in tears.

Sigrid rolled her eyes. And that bunch of maniacs was ruling the Brotherhood. She knew she was not dealing with great humanists, but even so…

"Fear not, my dear Hoar-Blood, because your axe will be able to quench its thirst of blood tonight."

All glances turned to Uvani. He was standing still, his arms crossed behind his back, his mouth deformed by his usual scornful smile. Everybody had felt silent.

Quite delighted with his little stylistic effect, the Dunmer turned toward Sigrid.

"Trencavel still has to answer the Black Hand for her refusal to carry out the Purification. And do I need to remind you that rejecting a superior's order is punished by death?"

Sigrid turned very pale at his words.

"Hey, wait a minute…" protested J'Ghasta.

"Are you contesting my authority?" the Dunmer cut him at once.

The Khajit bent his head on one side, his forefinger on his mouth as if he was seriously evaluating the answer to give.

"Hmmm, I think I am, yes..."

The metaphorical temperature dropped considerably, and Uvani's face twitched in anger.

"I believe we should seek our Unholy Matron advice." J'Ghasta continued, ignoring the Dunmer. "Too many things happened too fast, we need to…"

"I am the Listener! I have been chosen by the Night Mother!"

"Well, you won't mind then if we ask the Night Mother directly to… confirm us her choice?"

Uvani was now livid with anger. He eyes were bulging and he was almost foaming at the mouth. He pointed at Sigrid menacingly, and his arm was shaking with rage.

"How dare you…! She must die! She refused to obey a direct order from the Black Hand! We can't tolerate such insubordination…!" he shrieked.

Sigrid saw the rest of the scene as if in a dream. J'Ghasta jumped forward and his fist crushed on Uvani's mouth. The latter retreated a few feets backward, groaning and clutching his bloody lips.

"Enough, Uvani." said J'Ghasta softly.

The rest of the Black Hand looked petrified. Even Shaleez did not dare to make a move.

"_They fear him. They really do…"_ Sigrid thought, looking at the Black Hand members. J'Ghasta was very powerful indeed, but the girl was wondering what could motivate such terror…

"As I said, we need to see the Night Mother to seek her guidance. What do my fellow Speakers think? Arquen?" he asked.

The Altmer blinked. Apparently, she was not expecting to be asked her opinion on the matter.

"Well, er, I…I agree, with you, my brother." she said, carefully avoiding Uvani's and Shaleez' eyes.

J'Ghasta turned his gaze on the latter. The Argonian had reached Uvani and was trying to comfort him.

"And I guess Shaleez will continue to support her dear Uvani, despite he hasn't got a clue…"

Shaleez replied nothing but bared her teeth at J'Ghasta.

"I take that as a 'yes'." the Khajit said. "So, if we count Lucien - who, I think, would definitely agree with me…- that makes two voices against three… That's decided, we will perform the invocation ritual tonight."

Sigrid did not pay attention to the rest of the conversation. At the mention of Lachance's name, she had transferred her attention back on him. He was still unconscious. Slightly worried, she put a hand on his chest and her heart sank. His skin was cold and his chest did not seem to heave anymore. Really panicked now, she tried to take his pulse. It was so weak she could barely feel it at all.

"J'Ghasta!" yelled Sigrid. The Khajit interrupted his conversation with Arquen and hurried toward them. "I… I think he is not breathing anymore." she continued as he kneeled by them.

The Khajit clenched his jaws and put an ear on Lachance's chest. When he got up, Sigrid could see he too looked really concerned.

"He needs to come with me to see the Night Mother..." he started.

"You can't take him with you to attend a…a _meeting_!" objected Sigrid. "He requires treatment!"

J'Ghasta grabbed her by the shoulders and fixed his gaze into hers.

"Listen to me, Sigrid. I can't explain you everything, we don't have much time. But I swear that nothing bad will happen to him. Do you trust me?"

Bewildered, she nodded in agreement.

"Good girl!" he said, patting her on the cheek. He then picked up Lachance from the ground, and carrying him in his arms, walked toward the rest of the Black Hand who had formed a circle in the centre of the glade.

"Let's go." J'Ghasta said simply. Arquen nodded and raised her arm. A blue light flashed around her hand. She then murmured an incantation, there was another flash of light and… they were gone.

Sigrid's eyelids flickered.

"Impressive, hey?" said a voice behind her. She turned back to face Hoar-Blood. Apparently, only Speakers and the Listener had been authorised to attend the meeting with the Night Mother.

"Indeed…" she replied flatly, looking back at the place where the Black Hand had stood a few seconds ago. She was feeling completely empty and exhausted now.

"Aaah, don't look that sad! You will meet our Unholy Matron another day" said the big Nord. "At least that gives us time to get to know each other." He winked at her and something which looked more like a great paw than a hand fall on her shoulder. "Fancy a drink?"

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"Good. Now, add some more bergamot flowers' seeds and stir the mixture carefully until it turns blue."

Sigrid had come back to the sanctuary three days ago. She had left a rather drunk Hoar-Blood at the Count's Arms – where everybody was talking about the fire that took place at the Brina's Cross Inn – and had ridden directly back to Cheydinhall. Once there, she had immediately informed Ocheeva and Vicente Valtieri about the last events – but again, she had remained quiet on the Purification as well as on her new position as Lachance's Silencer.

If Vicente Valtieri's face had stayed perfectly neutral during Sigrid's account, Ocheeva had been quite moved to learn about the Cheydinhall sanctuary's Speaker ordeal and Sigrid's inability to tell whether he was alive or not.

"Well, all we can do now is to wait and see…" the Argonian had said in a whisper.

But waiting had never been Sigrid's strong point, and no news had reached the sanctuary since then.

So, in order to kill off both her anguish and boredom, she had decided to teach Antoinetta alchemy. The latter had made her such a fuss about it that she had finally accepted. To tell the truth, Sigrid had been quite reluctant at the beginning as she found that Antoinetta was kind of… creepy. All those stories about hearing Sithis' voice in her head… But after all, Sigrid was probably not the best person to pass judgement on Antoinetta for that, wasn't she...?

She gave a start when somebody knocked on the living quarter's door.

"Yea'f, 'ome in!" said Gogron, who was sitting at the table, stuffing his face with food while watching with an amused glance at Antoinetta's efforts.

Talendril stepped in and Sigrid immediately scowled inwardly. The relationship between the two had never been really warm, but things had turned worst when the Altmer had seen Sigrid arriving at the sanctuary on Shadowmere's back.

"You… you are mounting _Lucien's_ horse?" she had said, bemused.

And during the last three days, the High Elf had not spoken to Sigrid, contenting herself with shotting the girl very dark and contemptuous looks.

"Trencavel, Ocheeva wants me to tell you that you are awaited in her room." Talendril said flatly, looking rather annoyed. And without waiting for an answer, she left.

"Carry on with the stirring, Antoinetta. I shouldn't be too long…" Sigrid said to the girl while removing her protective apron.

She left the private quarters and walked trough the main hall where Vicente Valtieri was reading, as he often did. The vampire looked up from his book as Sigrid passed by. He had not appreciated the girl's decision to give Antoinetta alchemy lessons, considering that the latter's cooking technics were already dangerous enough…

"Hey, you didn't leave Antoinetta alone, did you?" asked the vampire, looking alarmed.

"Gogron is watching over her." said Sigrid absently.

"And is that supposed to put my mind at rest?!"

She ignored his remark and continued to walk until she reached the door of Ocheeva's private quarters. When she entered the room, a feeling of anguish rose in her chest at the idea of who she would – or would not… – be facing once in…

"Ah, nice to see you, Silencer!" J'Ghasta welcomed her warmly.

He was standing up in the middle of the room, wearing his set Dark Hand robes. Sigrid's relief was such she had to curb her strong urge to throw her arms around his neck. Ocheeva, who was standing near J'Ghasta, moved back, revealing another dark silhouette.

The girl's heart jumped in her chest. Lucien Lachance was standing in front of her, apparently in good health. Their glances met, and she felt herself flushing as he gave her a small mischievous smile.

"It's nice to see you too again, Speakers." she said, bowing swiftly at the two of them to hide her turmoil "We were growing concerned not to have received any news…"

"Yes, the Black Hand had several issues to sort out, and it took us more time to solve them than initially scheduled…Thank you Ocheeva, we need to talk privately with Trencavel."

Ocheeva saluted them and left the room quietly.

"Now, now, where to start?" asked J'Ghasta when he was sure that the Argonian was really gone.

"What if you simply told me how your meeting with the Night Mother went?"

J'Ghasta and Lachance exchanged an eloquent look.

"Hmm, not that well first." admitted the Khajit. "Our Unholy Matron was quite… irritated to be disturbed by what she called a 'bunch of repugnant paupers', as most of us were covered in sooth, blood, or both. Only Lucien was excused for his sloppy appearance…"

Lachance rolled his eyes, smiling.

"We did not need to explain the situation to the Night Mother as she appeared to be aware of everything that happened…" J'Ghasta continued. "By the way, our Unholy Matron was quite impressed by your… performance. So she asked us to give you a little gift. Lucien, please…"

Lachance came forward and retrieved from his robes what appeared to be…

"An hourglass?" asked Sigrid, rather surprised.

She was expecting something more impressive. She took a close look at the small object which was standing in Lachance's palm. It was made out of black metal finely worked with bones and skulls motifs, but it did not seem to work as the sand stayed stuck in one of the glass bulbs. On the top of the hourglass was engraved what looked like a coat of arm. Sigrid screwed up her eyes. _"I have seen that coat of arms before. But where?"_

She advanced her hand and as soon as she took it, the hourglass glowed in a red light. With a hissing sound, the sand started to flow from the upper bulb to the other, but strangely, its level in each bulb did not seem to move. Sigrid turned the hourglass upside down. The sand continued to flow, but in the same way, that is to say toward the ceiling.

"Er, is that normal?" she asked.

"I have absolutely no clue." said J'Ghasta, looking thoughtful. "But whatever the Night Mother had just given you, you'd better keep it with great care."

Sigrid sighted and put the hourglass in one of her pocket. She would examine it later.

"So, what happened next?"

"Well, the Night Mother felt that somebody had to be punished. She used her remarkable magical powers to set Lucien back on his feet before she turned them on the one she hold responsible for that lamentable fiasco…" J'Ghasta's face took a falsely tragic expression. "I am sorry to announce you that Uvani's soul has now left us to rejoin our Dread Father Sithis."

The news did not surprise Sigrid much. As soon as she had seen J'Ghasta and Lucien well and alive, she knew it had been at Uvani's expenses. After what happened near Anvil and J'Ghasta opened, it could only be so.

"But, if Uvani is dead… Who is the Listener then?"

J'Ghasta beamed at her.

"_You_ are_?"_

"Yes my dear, and let me introduce you my new apprentice…" he said gesturing toward Lachance, who made a little ironical bow to Sigrid.

"_The kind of person who would stay at the top of the pyramid if it had to collapse." _She brusquely remembered the answer J'Ghasta had given her a few days ago, in Bruma, when she had asked him who would be cynical enough to use the traitor's issue as a mean to reach his personal goal. After what she had seen in the wood near Anvil, the only reasonable answer to that question would have been Uvani, of course.

Oh, she had been _so_ stupid. Lachance letting her enquiring, J'Ghasta being more than helpful… How could she have been so blind?

"You _knew_." she whispered. "You knew right from the beginning who the traitor was, didn't you? Bellamont, Uvani, me… you manipulated us all this time!"

"Well, we had strong suspicions against Bellamont, yes." said J'Ghasta softly. "But we were lacking physical evidences. Bellamont had always been very meticulous, and the rest of the Black Hand was deliberately putting a spoke into our wheel. The situation had come to a dead end, that's why we decided to resort to drastic measure in order to provoke a few reactions…"

"You were the one behind the Purification's order?!"

"No, it wasn't my idea. It was Lucien's, but the hard thing had been to make Ungolim think it was _his_ idea. A Speaker too eager to see his sanctuary destroyed would have looked rather suspicious. "

Sigrid looked at Lachance, now feeling slightly sick. _"To think I had worried about him…"_

"Lucien knew that you would refuse to carry out the Purification and would ask to enquire on the traitor's identity. At least, that part went according to our plan. But a few things did not …"

Lucien gave two little coughs.

"Ok, ok... _A lot_ of things did not." J'Ghasta sighted. "By letting you investigate, we hoped that the traitor would starting feeling trapped and thus would make a move that would allow us to confound him. But if we did expect a reaction from Bellamont, we did not think he would go as far as to kill the Listener himself. Fortunately, in his urge to put the blame on Lucien, he made the fatal mistake that allowed you to track him down… You know the rest of the story."

Sigrid had turned very pale.

"Do you realise that you deliberately put at risk the lives of a dozen of your own brothers and sisters?!"

"We played a dangerous game, I know. But it was worth it. Look, you have saved your brothers and sisters from the Purification, Bellamont, Ungolim and Uvani can't harm anyone anymore, and I will finally be able to move from Bruma to Bravil's more clement skies. We would not have been able to reach all those goals if we had tried a different way…"

J'Ghasta stopped as a distant deflagration suddenly shook the walls of the sanctuary. A bit of dust fell from the roof. There was a silence, suddenly broke by a yell.

"_Antoinettaaaaaaaa!"_ screamed Vicente Valtieri.

"What was that?" asked J'Ghasta

"Just a little experiment which did not turn out the way it should have. It seems I don't have your talent at planning things…" Sigrid quipped. "Now, if my presence is not necessary anymore, I'd better leave as I think Vicente Valtieri will soon like to have a few words with me…"

"One more thing before you go…" said Lucien. "As you know, you have already been appointed as my Silencer. Nobody in the sanctuary knows about it obviously, and, in order to allay your bothers' and sisters' suspicion, Ocheeva will still give you a few assignments from time to time. But your priority would remain the missions I assigned you myself."

"But of course, my dear Speaker. It is always an honour and a pleasure to serve you." Sigrid was smiling but her voice was so cold it could have preserved food for a few months. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

J'Ghasta grinned as she banged the door behind her and turned toward Lucien.

"She looked a bit… upset, didn't she?"

"Oh, you have noticed that too?"

The Khajit's smile grew wider as a thought crossed his mind.

"You know, the more I get to know her, the more she reminds me of her grand-mother…"

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Cries of utter despair were echoing against the walls of the Flooded Mine.

Lying on the ground and howling like a wounded animal, Shaleez was giving way to her sorrow.

She had seen Uvani executed in front of her very eyes by the Night Mother, without having been able to help him. She gave another long moan as she remembered the expression of sheer horror on his face just before the Night Mother gave him the deathblow.

"_J'Ghasta, Lachance, Trencavel. J'Ghasta, Lachance, Trencavel…"_ She was repeating their names in her head, over and over again. _"J'Ghasta, Lachance, Trencavel."_ Her nails scratched the ground out of rage. They were the traitors! They had deceived the Night Mother, pushing her to execute the only person Shaleez had ever cared about…

She slowly stood up on her knees, breathing heavily. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, they started to gleam in a nasty way.

Revenge was a dish best eaten cold, but Shaleez would be patient…

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"The hourglass has been offered to her, my Lord…"

"_We know. We felt it when she activated it. And no doubt he fel it too…"_

Usually very dark and quiet, the Night Mother's crypt was currently looking even darker, but not quieter...

Sithis's presence seemed to suck up the few rays of light that managed to slide under the Old Lucky Lady's statute in Bravil. But the Night Mother did not care. On the contrary, she cherished those privileged moments when the Dread Father talked to her.

"But apparently, he had identified her already…" she replied softly.

"_Yes, he had been following the girl for quite a while now. Giving her the hourglass was the only way to warn her of the threat without rising to many questions…" _

"I believe we should get rid of her while we still have the opportunity. Letting her live is too hazardous. We can't take the risk to see him be back again. He would be too… powerful."

_"But you seem to forget that we have another great enemy at work…No, she must live until Merhunes Dagon is defeated. She still has an important part to play in his demise. And you wouldn't like to see him to take over Ninr, do you?"_

The Night Mother grimaced in loathe at the very thought. Of course, she didn't want to see the Daedric Prince triumphing. What would be the Dark Brotherhood's place in a world dominated by Merhunes Dagon?

"The thing is I wouldn't like _any_ of those two taking over our world."

"_That's why she must live until her deed is done. And in the process, she may find a way to get ride of our second old friend…Of course, if she did not succeed, we should be ready to take the appropriate measures."_

The Night Mother smiled with a knowing look on her spectral face. She had already made some arrangements.

"Don't worry, my Lord. I would see to that."


	9. Meeting old Acquaintances

**Arrrrgh !**

**I thought I would never see the end of this chapter... **

**Hope you'll be indulgent. I did not get much time to work over it and I wanted to post it ASAP, as I won't be able to write or post for the next to weeks… (I will be away from home for professional reasons… )**

**As you may have noticed, I have clearly moved away from the Dark Brotherhood original's quest line (which was actually the main point of this fanfic.). Now, I am going to focus more on the main questline. But the DB characters (Lucien, J'Ghasta, Vicente…) will still have a huge par to play. ;)**

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The early sunlight was filtering trough the windows of the Mystic Archives. Boderi Farano, the Arcane University's librarian, was walking along the set of shelves. He sighted in pure ecstasy as he stroked lovingly the books' covers with his fingertips.

Books were all his life. He had spent years travelling all around Tamriel to find the rarest books on every possible subject. Obviously, treaties on magic were the most numerous, but any readers could find what they were looking for at the Mystic Archives.

To reward Farano for his amazing work, the Archmage Hannibal Traven had offered him the position of First Assistant to the Head Librarian, Tar-Meena. Farano had accepted immediately, thinking that would allow him to rest and enjoy the work of his life…

But he had forgotten about on of the job's main downside. Students! Loud, careless, silly students! They always had to fiddle the books with their dirty little fingers, forgetting to put their back on their shelves… It was driving Farano mad!

But at least, in the morning, the Archives were definitely his. He really loved those early hours when the place was still quiet. Well, almost quiet…

Farano stopped and looked surprised as he heard a rather unusual noise for a library. Peering carefully behind one of the shelves, he managed to identify its source.

Completely slumped in one of the comfy armchair that had been installed for the readers' comfort, someone was snoring softly. Farano frowned as he realised the armchair seemed to be floating in a sea of books.

"_Look at that mess!"_ he thought, walking resolutely toward the sleepyhead. Standing by the armchair's side, he gave a polite cough, but only got a louder snore as an answer. He sighted, exasperated, and started picking a few books from the floor. He carefully made a pile with them and dropped it on the sleeper's lap.

"Arrrgh!" the latter yelled, jumping forward and almost collapsing from the armchair.

"Good morning, Trencavel. Slept well, didn't you?" asked Farano dryly.

Sigrid eyes' flickered as she looked up at the Dunmer and then at the mess of books around her. _"Uh-oh…"_

"Er, hello, Master Farano…" she replied, massaging her aching knees while grinning stupidly. Finding a rather upset Dunmer by your side when you were waking up in the morning was probably not the best way to start your day.

"This not the proper way to treat books, you know…" Farano grumbled, starting picking a few of them on the floor again.

"I am sorry." said Sigrid, yawning and stretching her arms. "I am afraid I got a bit carried away in my research…"

"And may I ask what kind of research has kept you up all night?"

"Hmmm, nothing important, really… I was just trying to get some documentation on heraldry and coats of arms."

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Well, kind of. But there is still something I need… A book I haven't been able to find anywhere." Sigrid hesitated. Should she ask Farano? After all, she had no idea how he could react at her request.

"_OK. At best, he is going to kick me out of the Archives. At worst, I will be dragged in front of Hannibal Traven and will get a really hard time…"_

"Ah, you are asking the right person then!" exclaimed happily Farano.

"Well…Do you know where I could find the book called 'The first Necromancers: from Mannimarco to Aimard Clairvaux'?"

Farano's smile immediately vanished from his face at the mention of the book's title. There was an awkward pause and Sigrid hold her breath.

"You know, even under normal circumstances, you would not have been able to consult it…" Farano said softly.

"_Under normal circumstances"_. Archmage Traven's obsession about necromancers had made everybody a bit nervous in the world of magical arts' practitioners. Worst, it seemed to be communicative. The simple mention of the words "necromancer" or "necromancy" in front of a fellow mage could earn you a sever blame from the Council of Mages. Sigrid had never met the Archmage in person, but the least that could be said was that the accounts on him were much… contrasted. He was either depicted as a very clever and wise person or as a narrow-minded psychotic. The truth was probably lying between the two…

"But it is kept here, in the Archives, right?" Sigrid asked again.

"Well, we had a copy of such a…a book, yes." said Farano reluctantly. "But unfortunately, it disappeared a few years ago, when Archmage Traven outlawed necromancy. I guess one of the renegade mages must have taken it with him or her…"

"Any chance to find another copy somewhere?"

"No, I don't, and even if there was, I wouldn't tell you." said Farano firmly.

She bit her lips. She could read fear and annoyance on the Dunmer's face. Would she be pushing her luck too far if she asked another question?

"And, er, where do you think I should look to find a copy of Clairvaux's personal diary…?"

"Don't mix with the Dark Arts, Trencavel. That's the only advice I can give you." And Farano made an obvious gesture with his hand toward the exit door.

"Ok, ok, I am leaving… But can I borrow those books, please?" she asked, showing him the two treaties on both heraldry and coat of arms of the great Tamriel's families.

"Just make sure you bring them back on time…" said Farano hastily.

Sigrid looked surprised. That did not look like Farano at all to let someone leave with some of his precious books without making a fuss about it. _"He must be really eager to see me leave…"_

"And off you go now." he added while pushing her firmly toward the exit. "I am not supposed to let non University students coming here, and I really don't' want to get into trouble…"

Sigrid bid him farewell, and with her books under her arms, hurried out of the Mystic Archives. Farano was right. They both could get into trouble if someone found out that she had borrowed some books. He only had let her in because Sigrid's father used to be one of his good friends, and she hoped she had not gone too far with her questions on necromancy.

"_Don't worry. He won't mention your conversation to anyone. As he said, he doesn't want trouble."_ said the Voice.

Sigrid almost gave a start as the familiar voice resounded in her head. She had not heard the Voice for quite a while. It was the first time it had remained quiet for so long and Sigrid had to admit she was growing worried.

"_Where have you been during all this time?"_

"_Silly girl! Where did you think I was…? I just felt like keeping a low profile for a while, that's all."_

The girl shrugged inwardly. She had given up trying to understand the Voice's attitude a long time ago.

Sigrid had left the University and was now walking in the Imperial arboretum. There were more people here than on the campus. And some of them appeared to be mages… Fearing to be recognised and questioned about her presence here, she quickened her pace and reached the other side of the arboretum. She was about to get through the doors to the Palace district when she heard a voice behind her.

"Oh, but look at what we have here...!"

Sigrid's blood turned to ice. Of all the people she had wanted to avoid, she had to bump into the worst of all.

She took a deep breath and turned around to see Mahaut Monfort walking toward her. She was as strikingly beautiful as in Sigrid's memories. Her long, thick dark hair was dancing on her shoulders. Her ample green mage robes – which were matching her eyes colour perfectly – did not manage to hide her body's generous curves. Mahaut's delicate features lightened up with a nasty smile as she planted herself in front of Sigrid.

"I am surprised you dare to show your face here, little freak." Mahaut's voice had a drawling accent which made it sound almost lascivious. "Have you finally managed to cast a spell properly, or are you still unable to produce the smallest basic fireball?"

"I am sorry to let you know that my magical abilities remain close to nil." Sigrid replied dryly. "But don't worry. You will be the first to know when I will be able to cast a spell. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't miss you with that big ass of yours…"

Contempt crossed Mahaut's sensual lips.

"I see that your stay in the Imperial Prison's cells has not blunted your sharp tongue, my dear cousin. Yet I would have thought it would have been a lesson to you."

"And I suppose you are the one I own the pleasure to have been offered the Imperial Prison's hospitality..."

Sigrid gritted her teeth as Mahaut's smirk widened. She had not forgotten how she had been imprisoned for "damaging the Imperial dignity". Satiric songs have always been a tradition among Trencavel bards, and some of them got into trouble for that, but at least they never ended up in jail. But they did not have Mahaut Montfort as arch-nemesis either, and Sigrid was sure her cousin had used all her influence to blow up the affair out of proportion…

Alerted by the girls' shouts, a few bystanders had gathered around them and were watching their dispute with great interest.

"_I am afraid that your attempt at discretion is a complete flop."_ said the Voice.

"Actually, you should thank me for that. If you had not been imprisoned, you would have never witnessed the Emperor's murder and had the opportunity to earn the title of 'Hero of Kvatch'… And I have learnt that you have become Great Champion of the Arena!" Mahaut bent forward Sigrid and her voice became a whisper. "You really think you are like the heroes from one of your songs, don't you? But whatever you do, you will always remain the only Breton girl unable to do magic – the shame of your family." Mahaut stopped and look at Sigrid, who was shaking with anger. "You really should have accepted to marry my brother… Who would like to have a weirdo like you as a wife?"

"Talking about freak, how is your dear brother Foulques lately?" Sigrid snapped. She did her best to prevent her voice from trembling. "Has he finally solved his impotence problem or does he still need to butcher his partners to actually succeed in doing something?"

Some members of the audience giggled, but the others – the cleverest ones – had already taken a few steps backward. Mahaut Monfort's magic staff had materialised in her hands and Sigrid had drawn her sword.

"What is going on there?" someone suddenly asked.

Mahaut turned her head toward the voice and her eyes narrowed. An Imperial had broken the circle of onlookers and was walking toward them.

Monfort immediately noticed the fine clothes the man was wearing – all black, from his leather boots to his cotton shirt. His raven hair was tied in a neat ponytail and he had the deepest golden-brown eyes she had ever seen. But what Mahaut found the most striking about him was the almost feline grace with which he was moving. Mahaut transferred her attention back on her cousin and realised that Sigrid was looking at the stranger as if she had seen a ghost.

"Any problem, ladies?" he asked the girls very politely once near them.

"No, thank you." Mahaut replied curtly. "And that's not your business anyway."

"Actually, I am afraid it is, Madam." said the man. "As you see, I am lady Trencavel's chaperon, and…"

He could not finish his sentence as Mahaut burst into a crystal-clear yet nasty laugh.

"You have a _chaperon_? Gods, this is pathetic…" she said to Sigrid. She then turned toward the man and gave him an appraising look. "Well, when you will have enough of baby-sitting _her_, I would be delighted to see you joining my staff."

And Mahaut left in a rustling of robes. As the show seemed over, the rest of the onlookers left as well, shooting amused glances at Sigrid over their shoulders.

"Hmm, you can't be left alone for a minute without irking someone, can you?" Lucien Lachance finally asked when he was sure they were alone.

Sigrid did not reply. She was still staring at him, mouth agape.

"And you shall shut your mouth. You look rather stupid like that and you may gulp some kind of unpleasant flying bug."

"What are you doing here?" Sigrid finally managed to ask him once she recovered from her surprise.

"Preventing you form doing stupid things - like starting a fight with mage in broad daylight and surrounded by many witnesses… " replied Lucien, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Well, making my life miserable in the Brotherhood is not enough for you, is it?" she said "Well, thank you very much for you help my dear _chaperon_, but I am quite busy…"

She bowed ironically and left toward the Palace district.

"Where are you going?" he asked her as she got though the door.

But Sigrid did not reply. Lucien raised his eyes heavenwards.

"_Why does she need to be so bad-tempered?"_ he thought as he followed her heels.

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Somewhere in Cyrodiil, on a deserted moor, the Ankou was waiting. Leaning against his cart's side, he was calmly polishing the blade of his scythe with a human bone.

So close, he was _so_ close… He knew that soon a very powerful force would start working against him. But at least, for the moment, they were both going in the same direction, to trying to reach the same goal.

He smiled. Time was working for him. He had now plenty of occasions to place his pawns on the chessboard, pawns that will reveal very useful when their time would come.

The Ankou smiled, revealing a row of rotten teeth. Once he would have gotten it back, nothing would be able to stop him.

"_Soon… very soon."_

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The streets of the Imperial city were already buzzing with activity. The day looked splendid. Most merchants had installed their counters outside around which a lot of customers were already crowding.

But there were other less usual strollers busy in the streets today. Servants wearing the Imperial Palace's livery were hanging down the houses' front some kind of decorations while others were cleaning the streets. And there were many more legionnaires patrolling around.

Not paying much attention to all those details, Sigrid was elbowing her way through the crowd. She had been more moved by Mahaut's remarks about her inability to do magic that she wanted to admit. As for Lachance's intervention… She sighted. At least, her visit to the library had not been a complete fiasco. Thanks to the coat of arms engraved on the hourglass the Night Mother had offered her and to the University registries, she had found some information on who she suspected to be the hourglass' former owner. Unfortunately, she still did not know what the object's function was.

"This is rather busy here today." said suddenly a well-known voice behind her.

Sigrid stopped, clenched her fists and turned slowly toward Lachance with an expression of pure annoyance on her face.

"Why are you following me?" she snarled. "Don't you have more important things to do, like setting up nasty plots with J'Ghasta?"

"Still a bit upset, aren't you?" said Lucien, smiling. He turned toward a merchant who was selling pancakes with honey. "May I have two of those, please?" he asked putting a coin on the counter. The merchant took the coin and handed Lucien two pancakes oozing with honey.

"Do you want some?" Lucien asked Sigrid.

The girl felt her mouth drooling. She hadn't eaten anything since last night and she was starving.

"Thanks…" she muttered, taking the pancake he was offering her.

"Now, to answer your first question, I am actually here on J'Ghasta's orders." Lucien said, biting in his pancake.

"And if I ask you why he had ordered you to follow me, I guess you are going to tell me you don't know…"

Lucien gently pushed Sigrid in a less busy corner of the street and looked around to make sure nobody could overhear them.

"You want to know the truth? Fine!" he said. He looked cautiously around once again. "The Night Mother had shown growing concern at Merhunes Dagon's attempts to overtake Nirn. Thus, she asked the Black Hand members to assist you in your efforts to oppose him."

Sigrid was looking at him with eyes like saucers.

"And you really think I am going to swallow _that_?"

"Why not? Do you really think the Brotherhood has any interest in seeing the Daedra rising to power?"

"You are kidding, me, aren't you?" asked Sigrid. But she was not sounding very sure of herself anymore. Lachance had made a point by underlying the divergence of interests between the Dark Brotherhood and Merhunes Dagon.

"Believe it or not, but that's the truth." he said, shrugging.

"_Well, not the entire truth, but that should be enough for now…"_ he added to himself.

Sigrid narrowed her eyes, watching Lachance carefully, but said nothing. They walked back into the stream of strollers, remaining silent as both seemed absorbed in their thoughts.

"So apparently Chancellor Ocato has decided to maintain the New Year's Eve festivities, despite the fact the Oblivion crisis had remained unsolved." Lucien said casually while looking at some Palace servants who were struggling to hang a banner.

"Ah! It seems so… He probably wants people to forget about his inability to resolve the problem."

Sigrid did her best not to sound too bitter. Apart repeating over and over again that everything was fine, Ocato had not done much for helping Martin, the Blades as well as herself to fight the Daedra hordes. From what she had been able to see, every count and countess could only rely on their own forces to resist against the Oblivion forces.

"You still haven't told me where we are going...?" asked Lucien, who, having noticed Sigrid's dark facial expression, had preferred not to react to her remark on Ocato.

"To see an old friend of mine…Ah, here we are!" Sigrid exclaimed, pointing at the Copious Coinpurse.

She pushed the door and they entered the shop. An incredible shambles had been piled up inside. There were pieces of furniture everywhere, but no trace of Thoronir behind the counter.

"Now, look at that… What's going on here?" Lucien was staring at the mess, mesmerized.

"Well, after he joined the committee of merchants, Thoronir had decided to specialise his shops into antiques…"

"_I just hope that his merchandises are less unsavoury than last time…"_ she added to herself.

"And you really hope to find something interesting here?" asked Lucien with a doubtful note in his voice.

"No. My only purpose in coming here was making that mess collapsing over your head to definitely get rid of you…"

"That was not a nice thing to say…" started Lucien

"Well, that's probably because I am _not nice_!" she spat. She could not help it. She just felt offended at each one of his remarks.

Lachance considered her pensively.

"No, you are definitely nice person…" he finally said with an unreadable expression on his face. "A nice person who is trying desperately to be bad."

He had come closer and Sigrid, in a reflex, retreated. But she did not go far, as she soon felt against her back the door of what happened to be a worm-eaten cupboard. Lucien put his hands on the cupboard doors, blocking Sigrid's head between his forearms.

"Why did you accept to join the Brotherhood?" he whispered. His face was now so close from hers she could feel his breath on her chin.

Sigrid perfectly knew the two possible answers to Lucien's question. _"Because I wanted to prove myself I could be ruthless… And because I wanted to find out more about you."_

Gods, she hated Lachance so much… For his capacity to see into her heart so easily. For the powerful attraction he was exerting on her. But above all, she hated him because he had revealed her how weak she was. Right from their first meeting, he had been playing with her, like a cat with a mouse, manipulating her according to his will. And Sigrid had been unable to resist him.

Lucien was staring at her, his golden-browned eyes riveted on hers. A faint smile crossed his lips as he bent forward. Sigrid closed her eyes and braced herself for the kiss that was going to follow…

"Greetings, dear customers!" boomed Thoronir. The Bosmer had suddenly turned up behind his counter. "Oh, sorry, did I interrupt something?"

Lucien had hastily stood back and was now looking with deep interest as the cupboard's door. As for Sigrid, she had freed herself from Lachance's embrace and she was now walking to the counter, trying to look casual.

"No, no, that's fine, Thoronir."

"Good, then! What can I do for my favourite customer?"

Sigrid rolled her eyes. Thoronir always had to go over the top.

"Have you been able to find what I have asked you?"

"Well, it had been_ very_ complicated…" started Thoronir.

"…and _very_ expensive, I suppose." completed Sigrid.

Thoronir beamed at her. The girl sighted and retrieved from her belt a fat purse she put on the counter and pushed toward the Bosmer.

Behind Sigrid, Lucien was now examining something which seemed to be a very, very old chest of drawers. It looked like as if it was going to crumble to dust. Thoronir immediately noticed the Imperial's interest for the article and, leaving Sigrid, materialised near him within two seconds.

"A very interesting piece!" he exclaimed gesturing toward the antique. "This chest belonged to the rulers of the First Human Empire, during the first era. It has seen Slave Queen Alessia herself in her nightshirt!"

"Given its states of decay, I would not be surprised if it had seen Lorkhan the Missing God in his undies…" said Lucien, amused.

"Ah! You are a connoisseur…" said Thoronir, a sly expression on his face. He grabbed Lucien by the arm and dragged in front of another potentially venerable item. "Then I am sure you will appreciate that _wonderful_…

"A-_hem_!" coughed Sigrid.

"Oh, yes, yes, sorry…" apologised Thoronir. He materialised back behind his counter. "I have been able to find interesting information on the hourglass you showed me a few days ago." He searched under his counter and retrieved from it a piece of papers covered in mystical signs. "They are particularly rare artefacts used in necromantic rituals, you see. Actually, any object can be used, but hourglasses seem to appeal particularly to necromancers – the symbolic of time, and the like, I guess…."

"Hmm, fine." said Sigrid. At least that was confirming her own discoveries. "But what about their _use_?"

Thoronir looked annoyed.

"Well, neither I nor my sources have a single clue about what their purpose is. _However_," he added quickly as he saw Sigrid disappointed look, "they had been able to provide me with the name of somebody who may be able to help you. A dark mage called Celedaen, who lives in a cave called 'Leapfrog' or something like that…"

"It is 'Leafrot cave'." Lucien corrected him.

Sigrid shot Lachance an inquisitive look, but the latter had already come back to his close examining of Thoronir's antiques. He was now giving a table some small punches to test its resistance.

"That's really helpful, Thoronir, thank you... By any chance, have you heard from a book called 'The first Necromancers: from Mannimarco to Aimard Clairvaux'?"

"Hmmm, the name does ring a bell. Doesn't the Arcane University have a copy of it?"

"No, they… lost it a few years ago."

"I can't help you much, then." he said, raising his hand in a gesture traducing his helplessness. "But I can see if I can get some information on that as well…"

There was a sudden and loud creaking sound behind Sigrid and a cloud of dust rose in the shop. Apparently, the poor table had not supported Lucien's resistance tests, and it had collapsed, dragging in its fall the rest of the furniture that had been pilled on it.

"I am letting you paying the bill, Trencavel." said Lachance, brushing some dust form his shirt. "I am waiting you outside. I am kind of allergic to dust…"

And without waiting for an answer, he closed the door behind him. Sigrid sighted and turned back to Thoronir.

"How much do I owe you for that?"

The Bosmer looked thoughtful.

"Well, I am not sure, but I think another one of your fat purse would do…"

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Mahaut Monfort stormed into the room.

"The little filthy… How dared she!"

Sitting in an armchair in front of the fire, Foulques shot his sister an enquiring glance. He was used to her outbursts, but this time she looked really, _really_ annoyed.

"I can't believe it!" Mahaut exclaimed again.

"What's up to you, Mahaut?" Foulques asked nonchalantly.

"I was at the Imperial arboretum this morning and guess who I have met there? Sigrid Trencavel!"

Foulques froze. _"Ah…"_ he thought. He closed his book back and flashed a smile at his sister.

"And what was she doing there?"

"Good question! Apparently, she went to the Archives – she was carrying several books. I am amazed at her overconfidence. I am pretty sure she is up to something! Otherwise, why, would she take the risk to…?"

Mahaut stopped as she realised Foulques was not listening at all. He was staring blankly at the fire and his fingers were drumming nervously on the armrest.

"She still obsesses you, doesn't she?" Mahaut asked him softly.

Foulques did not reply anything, but sighted. Mahaut sat on the armchair's armrest and started playing with one lock of his hair. It was as fair as Mahaut's hair was dark. But if their hair colours differed, they both shared the same fine features and piercing green eyes. Mahaut smiled inwardly. Many girls had been fooled by Foulques' angelical manners. And when they finally realised what was hiding under the mask, it was often too late...

Mahaut had never really minded her brother's strange needs. He had always been like that, and for Mahaut, his behaviour was perfectly natural. She even had helped Foulques in capturing some of his preys and had provided him with the right men to get rid of them once he was…done with them.

But despite the fact that they always had been very careful, rumours had started to spread on Foulques and on his strange conception of sexual relations with girls... Fortunately, their family name, power and money had been able to protect them from any kind of enquiry on the matter.

"I know who you are thinking about when you are torturing and raping all those girls…" she said softly.

Foulques remained silent. Mahaut kissed him softly on the cheek.

"Don't you want to help me to find out what the little scum is up to?"

There was another long silence.

"What do you need to know?" he finally asked softly.

"As much as you can find on her. Where she had been lately, with whom and the like…" said Mahaut. She took her brother's face in her hands. "Anything that could help us to make that slut pay for her affront toward us."


	10. Rainy Day

**Hello there!**

**Uhu… Contrary to what I was saying last week, I have found the time to write another chapter (Woo, go me!).**

**To say I wanted this fanfic to be short. "sight"**

**Anyway, let's the show begin!**

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It was raining heavily on the forests of the Nibenay Basin. The waters of the Silverfish River, carrying along mud and fragments of woods, were about to flood.

Along the banks made slippery by the rain, two horses and their riders were progressing with great care. The sky was so dark with clouds it seemed they were riding at dead of night.

"Did you _really_ have to follow me? I am a big girl, you know." said Sigrid to the rider who was coming after her. In spite of her rain cloak, she was soaking wet and was doing her best not to shake with cold.

Contrary to Sigrid and despite her insistence, Lucien had refused to wear a cloak. His face and hair were now streaming with water, but he did not seem to be bothered to excess.

"If you are a big girl, Celedaen is a _big_ necromancer and I doubt he will be very happy to see you." replied Lachance. "You may need a bit of support."

Sigrid shrugged.

"You know better than me. After all, he is an old acquaintance of you, isn't he?"

"Why do you have to be so aggressive?" asked Lucien sharply. "Are you like this with everybody else or am I the only one to have the privilege to enjoy your sudden changes of mood?"

Sigrid shot him a dark look but did not answer. She had never known where to stand with Lachance, but after what happened – or rather, what had _not_ happened – in Thoronir's shop, it was even worst… She hadn't tried to raise the subject and neither had Lucien, but several questions kept running through her head. Was he really attracted to her? Or – as Sigrid assumed – was he just trying to soften her up and exert more control over her?

When Lachance had revealed her that the Black Hand had been keeping an eye on Celedaen for a long time, Sigrid had had trouble not to flow in a terrible rage. He had tried to make her think it was a mere coincidence, but if Sigrid was sure of one thing, it was that coincidence could never occur when Lachance was around…

Her eyes suddenly spotted a vague dark form behind the curtain of rain.

"Oooh, look, Ayleid ruins!" she exclaimed. "I don't think I know those ones."

Lucien sighted inwardly as Sigrid spurred her horse toward the crumbled fort. To think they could have reached Leafrot cave in less than a day…

But it was without counting on Trencavel's propensity to play the day-tripper. She had made them stop at _every_ stone that vaguely looked like a ruin. And to make things worst, it had started to rain right after they left the Imperial City. Nor that Lucien did mind rain, but it was making their progression really difficult. Sigrid's mount – a paint horse which should have gotten back to its ancestors' green pastures long ago – was not exactly frisky, and Trencavel was definitely not a good rider. Fortunately, they had crossed Silverfish River earlier this morning which meant they should reach Celedaen's lair around midday.

"Funny, I thought you would have been more at ease with horses…" he said while observing Sigrid struggling to make her nag jumping over a rotten trunk.

"And what make you think that?" asked the girl.

Lucien pulled a face. Should he tell her? "_She will learn it, one day or another."_ J'Ghasta had said. _"Much better that you – or me – tell her than she finds out by herself"_. Lucien was really not enthusiastic at the idea, as it seemed he only had to open his mouth to either irritate or infuriate Sigrid.

"Well, your grand-mother – Rivanone Trencavel – was said to be a good horse breeder." he said.

"Oh, you have heard of her, haven't you?" Sigrid had dismounted and was now trying to drive her horse around the trunk.

"Yes, I have kind of_ heard_ of her…"

Something in Lucien's voice set of a little alarm in the girl's head.

"And what is this supposed to mean…?"

"Rivanone is the one who… offered me Shadowmere." Lucien replied carefully.

Sigrid stopped and looked at him with a suspicious expression on her face.

"Granny Rivanone was very found of her horses, and they were worth no less than ten thousands septims… Why on Nirn would have she given you one of her precious breeds?"

"She gave me Shadowmere as present when I became her… Silencer."

"_Right. That is said." _Lucien thought, taking a deep breath and bracing himself for Sigrid's fury.

But instead of starting yelling and insulting him, she stood still, looking rather shocked. The information took a few seconds to sink in, but she finally recovered from her surprise. Shaking slightly, she nevertheless managed to get back on her horse and broke into a furious gallop.

But her painted horse was no match for Shadowmere, and Lucien drew level with her without difficulty. He caught the reins of her horse and made it to stop.

"Let me go!" she yelled. "Or I swear I…"

She raised a hand and tried to slap Lucien across the face. He easily avoided the blow and, capturing her wrists in one hand, he grabbed her chin with the other, forcing her to look up him. Sigrid's hood had fallen back on her shoulders during their struggle, and Lucien realised she was in tears.

"Look, I know it is rather unexpected…" he started softly.

"Why telling me that _now_?" Sigrid cut him.

Lucien rolled his eyes.

"I never really get the opportunity before, you see... What could have I said? Something like 'Hey, you know what? Your grand-mother was a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood.'?"

"_Hmm, I think he is sincere, for once…"_ said the Voice in Sigrid's head. The girl did not know if Lucien was really honest, but at least his face was not displaying his usual "I-know-everything-you- don't" expression.

"She was the Speaker of the Cheydinhall's sanctuary before me." Lucien continued, releasing Sigrid's wrists. "She recruited many members - your humble servant included."

Sigrid relaxed a bit. She passed a hand over her face to wipe her tears way and gave Lucien an apologising look. She clearly had a bit overreacted but for once, her anger was not entirely directed toward Lachance…

How could her grand-mother have lied to her? Sigrid and Rivanone were very close, and the girl thought she knew everything about her grand-mother. To realise that the latter hadn't told her the entire truth had really shocked Sigrid.

"Granny Rivanone, a member of the Dark Brotherhood…" she whispered.

"_Granny_ Rivanone" Lucien repeated, emphasising the first word. "To be honest, after having witnessed her murdering cold-bloodlessly more than a hundred people in her long career, it is really hard to picture her as a softie of a grand-mother…"

"I never said she was good at it…"

Actually, Rivanone Trencavel had not exactly been the kind of grand-mother to read stories or make fruit jams… But she had been the only person who had really cared for Sigrid. The girl had been to left to her own devices in the early years of her life. Her mother died a few weeks after she was born and her father - who was not a bad man - was too deeply absorbed in his research in magic to bother with a daughter completely incompetent in this field.

When Rivanone finally had come back to the Trencavels'estate after a three-year trip around Tamriel, she had been quite displeased to realise that the only heir of the family was a eight-year old scraggy wild cat, who preferred spending her days running in the woods and fighting with the little rascals of her age rather than studying. So she had decided to take Sigrid's education into hand, using a clever mix of cuddling and kicks in the ass. But above all kicks in the ass…

"She was the one who raised me, you know. And I can tell you it had been no picnic…" said Sigrid, wincing.

"Tell me about it…" said Lucien, wincing back and pointing at his ribs. "J'Ghasta and I remember her every time it is raining."

"J'Ghasta? She recruited him as well?" asked Sigrid, surprised.

"No, she did not. Our Khajit friend belonged to another sanctuary. But Rivanone thought that J'Ghasta's Speaker was not using him to his full potential. So, she decided to form him herself."

"You two were raised by my grand-mother?"

"Oh yes…We were both recruited at a relatively early age – when we were in our teens, to be precise." Lachance was apparently taking great pleasure in remembering the good old days. "We made life rather difficult for her, and she was a very demanding teacher. But I don't think any of us would have regrets about the time we have spent together..."

Sigrid noticed the faraway look that had appeared in Lachance's eyes as he said this.

"And in five minutes, you are going to tell me that you or J'Ghasta had some kind of love affair with her…?" asked Sigrid sarcastically.

"I am not saying that, at a point, I had not been attracted to her. She was an incredible person and obviously she made quite an impression on the teenager I was... However, Rivanone seemed to be interested in a more… experienced partner." A smile appeared on his face. "And that person is still at the sanctuary, by the way."

Shooting him a questioning glance, Sigrid started reviewing in her head the Cheydinhall's sanctuary members. After having mentally eliminated all her fellow Dark sisters – they all had been recruited by Lachance and that would have been too… weird anyway – she started examining the case of the male ones.

Teineeva had been raised and enrolled by Lucien, and so had Gogron. As for M'raaj-Dar, Sigrid was not sure, but she really had trouble picturing him having a love relationship with anyone. So, basically, it was just leaving…

Her eyes widened in surprise as she realised who her last option was.

"_No way_…" she whispered.

Lucien had a pure evil chuckle.

"I have always said vampires were incorrigible romantics." he said sententiously.

"My grand-mother was in love with a _vampire_?" asked Sigrid, bewildered.

Lucien's smile grew wider.

"Vicente Valtieri and she were deeply enamoured of one another… So deeply that many of us at the sanctuary took the habit to sleep with earplugs when Rivanone spent the night over. If you see what I mean…"

Sigrid perfectly saw what Lucien meant and she blushed as very explicit mental pictures took form in her mind. She tried her best to focus on something else. Perfectly neutral things, like the rain, the horses, Lachance – no, not Lachance! – the ruins, the trees….But her attempts remained unsuccessful.

"I don't have to hear that, you know…" she muttered.

"_Neither do I have to SEE it._" said the Voice. _"Please, stop that. I have a ringside seat right here, and gosh, it's gross!"_

"Vicente had never really recovered from her death." said Lucien, sounding serious this time. "I believe he feels guilty for some reasons…"

"Guilty of what?" asked Sigrid, frowning. "She died from the falling sickness. There was not much that could be done."

"And don't you find a bit suspicious that a woman who had never suffered from epilepsy _ever _before suddenly start to have crises at the twilight of her life?" asked Lucien, raising an eyebrow.

Sigrid felt her blood turning to ice.

"Are you telling me…" she started.

"… she had been poisoned? Yes, I am sure she had. Her symptoms corresponded to a fatal mandrake poisoning."

"But who would have done such a thing?" Despite the very humid atmosphere, Sigrid's mouth was feeling very dry now.

Lucien shrugged.

"Rivanone was a strong and free-willed character. Her attitude earned her quite a lot of enemies within the Brotherhood and some of them may have well tried to take their revenge."

Lucien paused. There was no need to tell Sigrid that he, J'Ghasta and Vicente nourished strong suspicions against Ungolim and Uvani…

The recent The Black Hand internal divisions were actually finding their roots in something that happened years ago. It was a long story which could be quickly summed up by saying that Rivanone, Ungolim and Uvani cordially detested each other. And after Rivanone's death, Ungolim and Uvani had naturally transferred their hate onto her two disciples, Lucien and J'Ghasta.

"When we realised she had been poisoned, we tried to gather ingredients for a cure." Lucien finally continued. "But it was too late."

"But I don't understand. If she was a member of the Brotherhood, killing her would have been breaking one of the Tenets, wouldn't it?"

"No, not in Rivanone's case. She had retired from the Brotherhood a few years earlier – needless to say that kind of case doesn't happen much, as an assassin's life is often quite short…"

"Why did she retire?"

"Apparently, there were some private matters which required her full attention." Lucien replied, looking at Sigrid in a very eloquent manner.

There was another pause.

"So, Vicente feels guilty because he thinks he has been unable to save my grand-mother?" Sigrid finally asked.

"Yes. But I have found him a bit more cheerful the last few months." And Lachance gave her another meaningful look.

Sigrid tried to ignore it. It was true she always had had very good relationship with Vicente. They did get on very well almost immediately. Sigrid thought it had been because they were sharing many interests – music, alchemy and reading. But now, she wondered whether the vampire's fatherly attitude toward her was genuine, or if he was only acting like this because she was Rivanone's grand-daughter…

A sudden strong smell of burning suddenly started to titillate her nostrils. Sigrid frowned. What could be burning when it was raining so hard?

Lucien had smelt it too and he was looking around to try to identify the source of the smell. He suddenly pointed at the horizon. A cloud of smoke was rising in the sky.

"Hmm, isn't Leafrot cave located in that direction?" Sigrid asked him.

They exchanged an inquisitive look before breaking into a gallop toward the column of smoke.

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At the same moment, but somewhere else in Cyrodiil, Shaleez was hunting in the woods. Concealed behind a rock, she was carefully observing a deer which was grazing peacefully a few feet away. The Argonian calmly nocked an arrow on the string of her bow and took her time to adjust her fire.

During the last few days, she had gradually tried to get back to a "normal" life, starting training and hunting again. But she had not forgotten what she had promised herself, and avenging Uvani remained her priority. The thing was she did not know how she would do it. Shaleez really could not afford to defy Lachance and J'Ghasta openly as well as she did not want to provoke the Night Mother's wrath… J'Ghasta had already convoked her twice, and twice she had refused to appear before him. Shaleez knew this situation could not last long, but she hadn't found the strength yet to face the one to blame for Uvani's death.

The deer suddenly raised its head, alarmed. This saved its life. An arrow stuck in the ground at the very place the deer was standing a second before. Shaleez swore under her breath as she saw the animal fleeing away. She was sure she did not make any sound…

She stopped dead, her senses on alert. Something had changed. The surroundings looked now blurred and they seemed to have lost their colours. Shaleez sniffed the air. There was a smell…The smell of death, of tombs…

The Argonian heard a sound behind her – like the creaking of the axel of a cart – and turned round. Between the trees, a cart – the kind used to transport heavy loads – had appeared.

Shaleez did not loose time wondering how such a big cart had managed to cut its path through the wildest par of the forest. Instead, she focused on the figure – apparently a man – who was sitting at the front of the vehicle.

He was wearing a very large hat. His eyes, deeply stuck in his orbits, where shining and a scythe was laying down his knees. Long, white hair framed his skinny face. And it was far too skinny to belong to someone still alive… Shaleez gulped. Whatever it was, it was looking at _her_.

Trying to control the feeling of panic she was starting to experience, Shaleez hurriedly pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it. Then she aimed at the driver of the cart, who had just got down the vehicle.

Shaleez hissed menacingly at him.

"Step back!"

The stranger did not reply, but continue to walk calmly toward her.

This time, Shaleez did not bother to give him another warning and released the string of her bow. There was a funny sound – like a piece of cloth being torn apart - and a small cloud of dust rose in the air as the arrow went right trough him. The figure stopped and looked at the hole in his chest.

"_Now, this is not what I call a warm welcome, Shaleez."_ he said reproachfully.

The Argonian felt a shiver running along her spine. The voice she had just heard was nothing natural.

"Wha… How do you know my name?" asked Shaleez, bemused.

"_I know the name of every mortal on Nirn, my dear…"_

"_Who_ are you?"

The creature gave a small cackle, which actually sounded like a death rattle.

"_Oooh, didn't you identify me already? The scythe, the cart…?"_

He sighted at Shaleez' puzzled look.

"_I am the Ankou, Sihtis' servant, the one who collect the souls of those killed in His name before they are sent to the Void…"_

The Ankou took his hat off and bowed. Shaleez stiffened and her hand slowly slid to her sabre's hilt. The Ankou… Yes, now she remembered the legends that were running on the lich. Some said he was Death's servant, but others claimed he was serving the Dread Father and Him only. Apparently, the second version was the right one…

The Ankou noticed her move as he put his hat back on his head. His desiccated lips curled up in a nasty smile.

"_Don't be silly, little lizard. I don't kill anyone. I leave this task to the Dark Brothers and Sisters… No, if I have come here, it is to propose you… a deal."_

The Argonian frowned.

"I usually don't conclude any kind of deal with talking corpses." she said, looking distrustful. As many assassins, she was not really at ease with undead. According to her, once dead, a corpse should remain… well, dead, and certainly not start walking around. Or talking. That was far too messy. And being visited by a powerful lich such as the Ankou was not reassuring her much.

"_I think we should be able to find an agreement, my dear Shaleez. It seems we have… convergent interests."_ said the Ankou.

Another malicious grin appeared on his cadaverous face. He held out his right hand and opened it. On his palm, something which looked like a big blue pearl was shining softly. Shaleez craned her neck to take a better look at the spherical object.

"_Have you ever seen a soul, Shaleez?" _the Ankou asked_. "I mean, not a soul trapped in a gem, but a soul in its purest form… No I guess you haven't."_

He played a bit with the pearl, making it rolled in his palm. Shaleez realised that the surface of the pearl was actually made of a blue mist which was whirling and twisting.

"_I collected this soul not so long ago."_ the Ankou continued in a conversational tone. _"I am hesitating a bit before sending it to the Void. I am kind of a collector, you see."_

"And you have come here to show me that?" Despite her fear, Shaleez did not succeed in hiding the sarcastic tone of her voice.

"_I thought you would have appreciated it to its true value."_ the Ankou replied. _"After all, it is not everyday I have the honour to collect the soul of a victim killed by the Night Mother herself…"_

Shaleez felt her heart broke in her chest at his words. The pain she thought she had managed to bury deep inside her was rising again, burning her more than ever. _"No, it can't be…"_

"Uvani…?" she said in a weak voice.

As if it had heard her, the pearl became shinier. Hypnotised, Shaleez her hand toward it…

"_Ah-ah…"_ said the Ankou, closing his finger back on Uvani's soul and withdrawing his hand. _"Before your lost love's soul gets definitely yours, there is a little something you need to do for me…"_

The Argonian gulped and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her glance directly fall on the Ankou's closed hand.

"What do you want me to do?" she whispered.

"_I will explain you latter the exact ins and outs of the question. But I think you will like it as it involves an old acquaintance of yours… Does the name Trencavel ring a bell?" _

Shaleez' face turned very dark and a muted groan rose from her chest.

"_Ah, I knew you would like it."_ The Ankou put Uvani's soul back into on of his pocket and hold out his skeletal hand to Shaleez. _"So, is it a deal?"_

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"'_Leafrot Cave' should rather been reamed 'Leafrot Oven'"_ thought Lucien. With his hands on his hips, he was looking at the black smoke and flames that were pouring out of the cave's door. _"Even if we managed extinguish this blaze, I doubt we will find anything useful left…"_

"It seems we have been double-crossed…" said Lucien aloud.

A liquid gurgling answered him. He turned back and shot an annoyed look at Sigrid.

"Please, get a grip on yourself, will you? You are reacting as if you have never seen a corpse before."

"Sorry…" muttered Sigrid, wiping her mouth with her hand.

She had seen a lot of awful things in her life, from Merhunes Dagon's realm to Bellamont's cellar. But _that_ what was frankly disgusting. She risked an eye toward the mutilated corpse crucified by the cave's door and felt a flood of bile coming up her throat. She turned back and vomited in the grass.

Lucien shook his head in exasperation and transferred his attention on the two banners that were floating above the cave. On the first one, Lucien recognised the Arcane University's coat of arms. But the second one did not remind him of anything he knew.

"The Monforts…" said Sigrid behind him. She was still looking slightly green, but seemed to feel a bit better.

"Your cousins, right?" During their journey to Celedaen's lair, Trencavel had briefly exposed him the story of the century-old rivalry between their respective families. "It seems they have decided to take an active part in Traven's crusade against necromancers…"

"Another interesting coincidence isn't it?" said Sigrid ironically. "They have never showed any interest in the matter, and as soon as I am looking for a necromancer, they suddenly turn up and butcher him."

She shuddered as she remembered in what state Celedaen's body was. It was certainly the work of his dear cousin Foulques. Apparently, his case was not getting any better…

Lucien replied nothing. He was still glaring at the banners, looking concerned. In a sense, he was quite happy Celedaen had been… disposed of, but he really did not like the idea of having been double-crossed by the Montforts. He did not have much information on their motivations, and that was really making him feel ill at ease. He should discuss the matter with J'Ghasta as soon as possible...

"How did they know we were looking for Celedaen?" continued Sigrid. "And how did they manage to arrive here before us?"

"Easy." replied Lucien. "I guess they followed us to the Copious Coinpurse and that your filthy Bosmer friend told them where we were going in exchange of another purse full of gold. And they were quicker than us probably because they did not stop at every ruin they saw on the way…"

Sigrid pursed her lips at Lucien's sarcasm.

"Celedaen won't be of any use to us now." he carried on, ignoring her. "We need to find the Montforts to see if they are in processions of elements that may be useful to us…"

"And how are we going to achieve that?" Sigrid asked coolly. "There are only two of us, whereas it seems they have come with a small army."

Lucien beamed at her and patted her on the shoulder.

"Assassins are… resourceful people, my dear. We will find a way."


	11. Necromantic Legacy

**OMG, I am so pathetic… I apologise in advance for the third part of this chapter, which is kind of a fangirl's delirium… Sorry, but I really could not resist. :D  
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Mahaut and Foulques Montfort had decided to camp near Nanyon's lake. The location was, indeed, ideal. The lake could supply the troops with water and the woods around were well-stocked with game. If it wasn't for the bad weather, everything would have been perfect.

Mahaut was sitting at her desk, in her tent, reading. Outside, she could hear of the rest of the battle mages, who were trying to organise the camp under the rain, screaming and swearing.

She raised her head as a very wet and grim-looking Foulques stepped in the tent.

"So?" she asked her brother as he shook his rain cloak and threw it on a chair.

"The owner of Imperial Bridge Inn said dinner would be ready in a hour." replied Foulques, grabbing another chair and sitting at the table, right in front of Mahaut.

The latter sighted in relief. The Inn was half an hour from their camp, but she was ready to travel a day if needed to find something edible. She could not stand anymore the infamous grub of the cook of their expedition.

Outside the tent, the rain was getting even stronger and some battle mages cursed as they slid in the mud.

"You know you should go out and give them a hand. After all, you are the commander in chief of this expedition…" said Foulques

"No, thank you, really… I think they are doing perfectly fine without me, and a mud bath won't hurt them anyway. They all have such an _awful_ complexion…"

The young man grinned.

"How do you manage to be so perfectly _odious_?"

"It's a knack."

Foulques sighted, and in his chair, put his feet on the table. Mahaut made a disapproval pout as she quickly pushed away her books from her brother's muddy feet.

"At least, have you found anything in this susceptible to interest us?" he asked, pointing at Celedaen's diary.

Mahaut raised a delicate and perfectly manicured hand over her mouth to muffle a yawn.

"Hmmm, yes and no…As we already knew, Celedaen had found a way of turning himself into a lich. And he used this hourglass" she took the small object between two fingers and shook it softly "as a vessel to transfer his soul from his body. The 'Sands of Resolve', he called it…"

Foulques looked at the hourglass and had a small derisive laugh. When he had taken it from Celedaen's cooling body, it was still glowing in a red light and the sand was hissing and whirling furiously inside the bulbs. But now, it looked perfectly normal. Only the profusion of bones and skulls engraved in the metal could give a hint on its former owner's identity as well as on his complete lack of good taste.

"Fine." Foulques said, taking the hourglass from his sister's hand and started playing with it. "But we already knew necromancers used some artefacts to transfer their souls from their body…"

"You are perfectly right, brother." Mahaut cut him. "But what we did not know was where they got the idea from… Nor how they did it."

She smiled while pushing another two books toward her brother. They looked much, much older than Celedaen's diary. Foulques took one in each hand and read the title of the first book. His eyes widened in surprise and he gave a long admiring whistling.

"Well done, sister!" he finally said, putting the book back. "'The First Necromancers: from Mannimarco to Aimard Clairvaux'… Hmm, Traven will be delighted to have it back at the Mystic Archives. But what about the second book…?"

It was smaller than the first one and was actually more looking like a notebook than a proper book.

"Celedaen wanted everybody to think that Mannimarco himself had revealed him the secret of transcendence to lichdom. But I am afraid the truth is a bit more prosaic…"

Mahaut stood up and walked toward her drinking cabinet. She retrieved a glass and a bottle and poured herself a glass of wine.

"What you are holding in your hands his a copy of Aimard Clairvaux's diary." she continued "It seems that our dear friend Celedaen was not an evil genius, but a pathetic copycat."

"You mean _Aimard Clairvaux_?" asked Foulques, incredulous. "The legendary Breton necromancer who became one of Mannimarco's first disciples?"

Mahaut burst out in one of her crystal laugh at Foulques' astonishment.

"Yes, brother, the Great Clairvaux himself!"

"But nobody knows what happened to him…"

"Tut-tut. Nobody _knew_…" she corrected him, a smile on her face. "But I think the diary will give us some hints on what really happened. Before his…disappearance, Clairvaux was working on a project similar to Celedaen's - he wanted to turn himself into a lich. But more interestingly, the diary clearly indicates that Clairvaux was a member of… the Dark Brotherhood."

This time, Foulques' jaw dropped literally.

"Are you sure of that?"

Mahaut took a sip of wine and looked thoughtful.

"Almost, yes. Clairvaux often references to Sithis and the Night Mother in his diary. However, I haven't finished reading it yet and some parts are really obscure. But what I can say is that things did not turn up the way Clairvaux wanted them to."

"Well, all that is rather fascinating, but that doesn't tell us what Trencavel is doing with Clairvaux' hourglass…"

"Who cares?" shrugged Mahaut. "With the testimony of that weasel face of Thoronir and those two books, I think we have enough evidences now to reveal Trencavel's acquaintances with the practitioners of the Dark Arts."

"You really hate her, don't you?"

"Probably as much as you are obsessed by her… All I ask is to make that bitch pay for having dared to decline the alliance we proposed her."

Mahaut took the books and walked swiftly toward a huge chest made in a dark green metal. She murmured an incantation, and the lid opened. She put the books into he chest, and turned toward her brother.

"Now we'd better go to the Imperial Bridge Inn, or our dinner will get cold…"

And they left the tent, ignoring that, hidden in the bushes a few feet away, two dark silhouettes had listened to their conversation with great interest.

"I think this answers a few of your questions, doesn't it?" whispered Lucien.

"And it also raises new ones." Sigrid whispered back. "I think they have left. We should try to take a look at those books while they are away…"

Lucien gave her a questioning look.

"Why? Haven't you learnt enough?

"No, I want to take those books with me."

The assassin made a face. He knew Trencavel was going to say something like that. It had already been hard enough to get that close to the tent with all those battle mages patrolling around… Trencavel must have noticed his discomfiture, because she gave him a sarcastic look.

"I thought assassins were resourceful people?" she asked impertinently.

"And how do you think we got there, my dear?" Lucien replied curtly. "Fine. You will get your damn books, but first we need to make a plan to…"

He stopped as he heard a sound behind him. Slowly turning his head toward the noise, he realised with horror that two battlemages were standing a few feet away from him. Holding his breath, Lucien saw one of them scanning the surroundings carefully.

"Come on, Yohan. Let's go back." said his companion. "That was just a figment of your imagination!"

"Hmm…" replied Yohan, not sounding really convinced.

Lucien hunched up in his hiding-place, expecting the worst…

"There is nothing, see?" insisted the second battlemage. "You are getting paranoid, man! Fighting necromancers doesn't do you any good."

"Oh, shut up…"

The two battlemages finally walked away, and Lucien sighted in relief – and as silently as possible.

"Well, that was close. I really think we should… Trencavel?" he asked as he suddenly realised that Sigrid had disappeared. He looked around him and finally identified a silhouette that was quickly crawling toward the Monforts' tent.

"Trencavel! What the hell are you…" he hissed. "Come back here. _Now!_"

But Sigrid ignored him and carefully slipped under the tent. The inside was decorated with taste and looked very comfy. There were rugs on the floor, two beds, a huge table, a desk and… a massive chest, in which Mahaut had certainly locked the books.

Sigrid grinned and retrieved a lockpit from her Dark Brotherhood armour. It shouldn't be too hard to open, should it? She kneeled near the chest, and her smile faded in a second as she realised it did not have any lock.

"_It is an enchanted chest. You need a password to make it open."_ said the Voice helpfully.

"_I know how enchanted chests work, thank you! Now, if you want to help me, try to find out what that bloody password is…"_

Sigrid tried to lift up the lid, but it refused to move. Taking her dagger, she tried to insert it under the lid, but again, she remained unsuccessful.

"Are you going to open, you stupid bitch of a chest?"

She kicked it in rage, making the metallic surfaces resounding dully.

"_Shhh! Do you want to get busted?!"_ asked the Voice. But it stopped. In a creaking sound, chest's lid lifted up slowly and Sigrid raised an interrogative eyebrow.

"_Hey, looks like you have found the magic words!"_ said the Voice cheerfully. _"'Stupid bitch'. What an interesting password, really. I wonder who Mahaut was thinking of when she chose it…" _

"_No comments."_ replied Sigrid, who started ruffling trough the chest. Among the rare alchemy ingredients and the fine clothes stocked there, she finally found what she was looking for. Smiling in satisfaction, she took the two books and…

A battlemage brusquely stepped in the tent.

"Ah-_ah_! I _knew_ it!" Yohan exclaimed, pointing at Sigrid. "Alert! Comrades, at ar…"

The mage did not get the time to finish calling his companions, as Sigrid punched him hard in the stomach and rushed out of the tent.

But in her haste, she did not see the other guard who, alerted by Yohan's screams, was speeding up the other way... They smashed into one another violently, and, in the collision, one of the two books Sigrid was carrying fall in the mud, a few feet away from her.

Groggy, the girl tried to reach it but stopped as she realised other battlemages were getting out of their tent. Feverishly, she tried to find a way out, but in every direction, she found herself facing a wall of rather angry mages.

Sigrid had to yield to facts: she was cornered…

"_Uh-oh, it really sucks…"_ said the Voice.

"_Indeed…"_ thought Sigrid, who mechanically pulled down her hood a bit more over her face.

Yohan, who had managed to get his breath back in the meantime, broke the circle the mages had formed around Trencavel.

"Look at what we have here!" he exclaimed with a nasty smile. "A Dark Brotherhood assassin! You guys do into burglary now?"

"It is the Grey Fox who is going to be happy!" said one of the mages and his comrades burst out laughing.

"Now," continued Yohan, raising his hands which started to gleam, "you are going to learn that the Arcane University does not tolerate…"

He stopped as he heard some of his companions yelling behind him. He turned back and just had the time to jump on one side to avoid the huge black horse which had broken the circle of mages and charged at him.

The horse rider made his mount jammed on the breaks and grabbed the assassin by the collar before throwing him across his saddle and breaking into a furious gallop. The few mages who had recovered from their surprise started casting spells at them, but it seemed that the horse and its two riders had vanished into the night.

"Stop! _Stop!_" screamed Yohan. "They are too far away now!"

"Should we take our horses and chase them?" someone asked.

"No, they are too fast and have too much advance on us." said Yohan, gritting his teeth.

One of the battlemage gave a polite cough.

"Well, I don't think Masters Mahaut and Foulques are going to be _very_ happy." he said carefully.

"I don't think either." replied Yohan darkly. Then he turned toward the rest of his companions, a gleam of hope in his eyes. "Er, any volunteer to announce them the good news?"

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Walking in the street of Skingrad, Gunthar was whistling happily. He was just getting out of the tavern, where he had a very good time. The beer was good, the waitresses were beautiful, and he had won quite a lot of money playing cards. So, basically, he had no reason to think he was going to die.

But the Ankou _did_ know Gunthar's life would soon get to an end. That is why he was patiently waiting here, his arm crossed on his chest while he observed the dark silhouette that was silently sneaking behind his victim.

The assassin's stiletto pierced Gunthar's neck quickly. His eyes widened in surprise, and a bit of blood started to flow from his parted lips. Then he fell on his knees, and his face heavily crushed on the pavement.

"_Ah, finally!"_

The Ankou had not had much to do lately, as the Dark Brotherhood had not been as productive as it used to be. The Ankou believed that this lack of activity in the "assassination sector" was probably imputable to the "Oblivion crisis". Indeed, during dangerous times, people thought more of preserving their life rather than taking others', didn't they?

The lich took his scythe and walked casually toward Gunthar's body. He wasn't dead yet, but it was just a question of second.

"_Now!"_

The Ankou raised his scythe and cut the faint link that was still connecting Gunthar's soul to his body.

The soul slowly rose in the air, like some kind of blue mist and flew up toward the sky. The Ankou brought his hand forward, palm open, and an irresistible force started to drag the soul to his hand. The lich watched the blue ribbon of mist struggling to free itself from its grip, but it was a waste of time. The force irremediably continued to haul the soul into the Ankou's hand, where it finally found itself reduced to the state of a shining blue pearl.

This suddenly reminded the lich of his little conversation with Shaleez and he gave a small derisive laugh at the thought. It had been _so_ easy to deceive her. Stupid mortal… As if he could retain souls and offer them around like sweets!

If he had the ability to collect souls for the Dread Father, the Ankou certainly had not the power to keep them for himself. He sneered. Oh yes, Sithis had seen to it… The Void was merciless with those you betrayed him, and his revenge against the Ankou had been particularly cruel and sophisticated...

In the meantime, the assassin was carefully checking the surroundings to make sure no undesired witness had seen the scene. His mind at ease, he quickly walked away and disappeared in the nearest street.

"_Of course, you can't hear or see me, my dear brother…I only reveal myself to those I think worthy of it…"_

The Ankou smiled as he remembered he still had to introduce himself officially to a very particular person. The next time they would meet, he would have a nice little chat with _her_…

The Ankou walked toward his cart which was parked at the street entrance and threw the blue peal in it. He then jumped in the driver seat and whipped his horses. The cart moved off and disappeared in Skingrad's fog in a creaking of axles.

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All the rooms of the Tiber Septim Inn were sold out, as well as in the rest of Inns in the Imperial City. This was, actually, not surprising. With the New Year Eve's festivities coming up, people had come from all parts of Tamriel to visit the capital of the Empire and attend the celebrations that will crowned the moment when the moons Masser and Secunda, the "Cloven Duality", will line up and thus weaken the barriers between Nirn, Oblivion and Aetherius.

But because of the "Oblivion crisis", the authorities had dramatically underestimated the numbers of visitors supposed to come to the capital this year. As a result, the lack of accommodation had forced many unfortunate pilgrims to sleep in the street, or, if they were luckier, to be offered hospitality by some of the Imperial City's generous inhabitants.

Fortunately, thanks to Lucien Lachance's persuasion abilities – and to several purse full of gold – Sigrid and the master assassin's had not had that kind of problem. And now, in one the hotel suite, Lucien was diligently shaving himself in front of a mirror.

Contrary to his habits, he had decided to have a lie in. After all, it was not often that he had the chance to stay in such a high class hotel as the Tiber Septim Inn.

Obviously, the services dispended here were rather… expensive. Not that Lucien could not afford them… On the contrary, assassin was a very lucrative job, but it did not allow you to indulge yourself much…

Anyway, his stay at the Tiber Septim Inn could beyond doubt be qualified as "travelling expenses", hence he would send J'Ghasta the bill. Lucien grinned at the thought. The Khajit was probably going to have a heart attack…

Lucien was finishing shaving when somebody knocked on the door.

"Come in." he said.

The door opened slowly and three young maids stepped in, chuckling, each one carrying two huge buckets of water. They chuckled even more when they realised Lucien was just wearing a towel around his waist.

Lachance was glad Trencavel had left earlier for a little shopping trip at the market district. The little maids had spent most of the last evening looking at Lucien while he was having dinner with Trencavel, whispering and giggling, to Sigrid's greatest annoyance. Lucien was not sure what the main source of Trencavel's irritation was: the giggles or him being the centre of their attention.

"We are bringing more hot water for your bath, sir!" declared the youngest.

Lucien nodded in agreement and finished to wash his face while the girls were pouring their buckets into the tub that had been brought up to the suite on his demand. It was a large wooden tub which bottom and sides had been covered with a thick sheet for the comfort of the bather.

"Your bath is ready, sir." said one of the maids. "And if you need a backrub, let us know…"

Her remark sparked a wave of giggles.

"Off you go now." replied Lucien, smiling. And the maids left, still chuckling.

The towel dropped on the floor and Lucien sighted in beatitude as he plunged himself into the hot and soapy water. He closed his eyes to savour the moment.

If there was one thing Lucien had strong ideas about, it was hygiene. And he did not get much time to wash over the last few days… After he rescued Trencavel from the soup in which she had landed herself in – as usual – they both had ridden back to the Imperial city.

Lucien considered it was not a really prudent thing to do given the fact that, even if nobody had managed to recognise them at Nanyon, the Monforts probably strongly suspected their cousin to be behind what happened over there. But Trencavel wanted to see if Thoronir had found anything new on Clairvaux – and to tell him what she thought of the way he respected business confidentiality…

Lucien was slowly letting himself sinking in the tub when he heard the screams.

He sat up and pricked his ears. They were more screams, now accompanied by sounds which were clearly indicating that a serious commotion was happening downstairs. Lucien sight and resigned himself to getting out of his bath.

"_Can't have a minute of peace, can I?"_ he thought, as dripping with water, he took his sword and picked up his towel from the floor.

He carefully opened the door of his bedroom and peered on the landing. If he could not see much, he could distinctly hear women's frightened screams as well as curses and the sound of blades clashing together. He walked on tiptoes to the guardrail and looked down the main hall.

It was a mess down there. The tables had been knocked over, and food as well as kitchen utensils were scattered on the floor. Right in the middle of the room, five heavily armed men - Lucien immediately identified them as Mythic Dawn agents - were surrounding a Redguard. The corpses of three of their comrades were already lying on the floor, along with two others which probably belonged to customers who had tried to resist. The rest of the clientele was squeezing up against a wall, looking at the scene mute in terror.

"Hey! What the…?"

Lucien turned his head at the exclamation and realised that another Mythic Dawn warrior was standing in the stairs, watching him in awe. Apparently, he was not expecting to find a half-naked and soaking wet armed man on the landing. But he recovered magnificently from his surprise and started to run toward Lucien, his weapon raised.

"Death to the Septims' lapdogs!" he yelled.

Lucien easily avoided the blow and, sliding behind his opponent, gave him a good kick in the bottom. The man toppled over the rail guard, yelling in both surprise and fear, and his arms helplessly trashed the air before he crashed – head first – in the main hall. His companions, who were watching the scene from downstairs, gave a roar of anger and started inveighing against Lucien.

The latter sighted. He initially did not want do get involved, but he did not really have the choice now...

Lucien jumped over the railguard – trying to prevent his towel to fly around him – and landed with agility on the floor.

"Hmm, looks like you need a bit of help here" said Lucien, coming into guard and slowly taking place by the Redguard's side.

The Redguard replied nothing but gave him an approving nod. As if it had been a signal, the Mythic Dawn agents charged them as one man.

The Redguard was definitely a good combatant. Armed with an Akiviri katana, he quickly got rid of his Mythic Dawn thug and started to fight another one. Fighting by his side, Lucien was doing his best, despite the fact he was not really at ease in straight fights, especially when he had to prevent a towel from falling from his waist…

But he finally managed to get rid of his opponent as well and quickly freed his blade from his corpse. He then retreated until he found himself back to back with the Redguard, surrounded once again by what was left of the Mythic Dawn envoys.

"Well, thank you for your kind help, sir." said the Redguard, with an amused expression on his face. "I am sorry to have interrupted your ablutions so rudely."

"So am I…" replied Lucien, who was desperately trying to cover his modesty with his towel. The Redguard shot anther quick amused glance at his efforts.

"Hard to reconcile efficiency and decency, isn't it?" he said, grinning.

The Mythic Dawn agents were drawing closer. Clearly, Lucien had to take a decision, and quickly. His lips curled up in a mischievous smile, and his towel flew in the air, describing a nice orb before it landed near the desk behind which the maids were hiding.

"Too bad for decency!" he said cheerfully.

Regardless of the gravity of the situation, the maids gave a cheer of approval and started to clap, while some of the customers gasped.

Lucien's closest opponent, who was not expecting such a… move, had a moment of hesitation. It cost him his life. Lachance's blade pierced his chest and he collapsed on the floor, gaping.

The last Mythic Dawn fighter, realising that he was not in a position of strength anymore, yelled in rage and jumped forward the Redguard, ready to strike him in the back. But he never managed to do so. Instead, there was a sudden metallic _thung!_ and the Mythic Dawn agent's eyes became glassy. He slowly collapsed on the ground, and Sigrid, holding a frying pan in her hands, materialised behind him.

"What is going on here?" she demanded.

She turned very red in the face and gaped when her glance fell on Lucien.

"Arrrrgh…!" she gargled.

"Oh, back from your shopping trip, I see." said Lachance in a conversational voice. "Did you find anything interesting?"

"Arrrgh?"

"Well, as you can see, we had a bit of a… warming up with my friend here…" Lucien continued as he gestured nonchalantly toward the Redguard who was finishing off his challenger.

Sigrid's eyelids flickered as she recognised...

"_Baurus_? But what are you…?"

The girl's expression suddenly turned from surprise to panic. She remembered Jauffre telling her that Baurus, who felt responsible for the Emperor's death, did not leave Martin for a single second. So, if he was here, alone, did it mean that Martin …?

"Oh, you two know each other?" asked Lucien, sounding rather interested.

"Is Martin all right?" said Sigrid, ignoring him and grabbing Baurus by the collar. The Redguard smiled and gently freed himself from her grip.

"He is fine, don't worry." Baurus replied. "But I can't tell you more _here_." he added, shooting obvious glances toward the customers, who were recovering from there emotions, and Lachance, who was calmly cleaning his blade. Some of the clients – mainly the female ones – were glaring at him, mesmerised.

"Oh, for Sith… for Akastosh's sake! Lucien, please, put _something_ on!" exclaimed Sigrid, exasperated.

One of the young maids walked toward Lucien and handed him his towel.

"You'd better put that on, sir, before your friend here gets an apoplectic fit." she said, grinning.

"Don't you have anything else to do, you stupid chick?" spat Sigrid. "Like cleaning that mess, maybe?"

The young maid shrugged and walked back toward her friend.

"Well, if you two don't need me anymore, I think I have a bath cooling down somewhere…" said Lachance, adjusting the towel around his waist. "Anyway, it was a pleasure to meet you, Baurus."

"The pleasure was mine… Lucien." the Redguard replied.

"Is this guy real?" asked Baurus, sounding very amused as he walked with Sigrid outside the Tiber Septim Inn.

"I am afraid he is." replied Sigrid darkly. "So, will you tell me what you are doing here?"

"Martin had sent me to find you. He needs your help, because he is planning something… something _huge._"

"And may I ask what exactly that _huge_ thing is?"

Baurus had an embarrassed smile.

"I can't tell you know but… I don't think you are going to like it much…"


	12. The Night before the Battle

**Hey there,**

**Another "transition" chapter, probably one of the last. A lot of talks, but there will be much more action in the next one. ;)**

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The rain has finally stopped falling over the Nibenay basin and the sun was now shining in the sky. Its beams reflected in puddles in the streets of the Arena district and a bit of mist was slowly rising from the pavement. Some may have thought of this scenery as beautiful, but the little groups that were walking toward the Arena did not really care about the beauty of the Imperial city after the rain.

Inside the majestic building, the atmosphere was pretty heated. The yellow team gladiator had managed to hurt his opponent, who was now lying at his feet, waiting for the "coup de grâce". The crowd, exited by the prospective of the kill, started to cheer.

Among the audience gathered around the tables in the "VIP" square, one spectator seemed to be particularly enthusiastic, even by the standards of the Arena…

"No! Get up! _Get up_!" he roared at the blue fighter.

And "roared" was definitely the word. Standing on the railing, the Khajit was copiously insulting the fighters and shaking his fist at them. The team of stewards in charge of security had not dared to tell him to calm down. First, the Khajit was rich enough to afford a seat in the VIP square. Second, he was particularly athletic - and anyway, no one really felt like having a row with an angry Khajit…

The rest of the audience had stopped to watch the fight down in the arena and was now looking at the Khajit, fascinated. Even the fighters had momentarily stopped struggling to watch the figure who was gesticulating on the balcony.

"What are you looking at? Fight! I have bet more than five hundred Septim on your victory, you pathetic son of a…"

Too busy regaling the audience with his colourful insults, the Khajit did not notice the sudden chill in the air…

"Greetings, J'Ghasta!" said a deep warm voice. "Enjoying yourself, I see."

An Imperial had suddenly materialised behind the Khajit, and J'Ghasta was so surprised he lost his balance. Only for a second, but it was enough. His eyes widened as he slowly toppled over the edge. Some people in the audience screamed.

But Lucien nonchalantly brought a hand forward and caught J'Ghasta by his belt. He then pulled him back and the Khajit collapsed ungraciously on the floor.

"Tss, tss, after all these years, getting caught unaware like a novice…" said Lucien, smiling and shaking his head as he bent toward his friend and offered him a helping hand.

"Lachance…" growled J'Ghasta, snarling and baring his teeth at him. "If it wasn't for all those witnesses around, I swear I would have bitten your head off already!"

"Sorry, but I thought Khajit always landed on their feet…"

J'Ghasta's looked like he was going to explode. The crowd hold its breath, waiting for the bold Imperial to be torn into pieces. But instead, the Khajit burst out laughing and took Lucien's hand. He got back on his feet and gestured toward a table.

"Let's have a drink."

The audience, which was expecting a much more spectacular ending, almost sighted in disappointment and tuned its attention back to the gladiators.

While J'Ghasta was pouring them some wine, Lucien shot a critical look at the two fat coin purses lying on the table.

"You are betting a lot of money, my friend…" Lucien sniggered.

"Mind you, I need funds to rebuild the Brina's Cross Inn – _my_ Inn." said J'Ghasta coldly. "The one you burnt down near Anvil, do you remember?"

"Yes, I do." replied Lucien flatly. "But I wouldn't have done it if I had not ended up cornered by the Blac… by the rest of the 'family' because of your stupid plan..."

He stopped as the crowd around him cheered. The fight had resumed in the Arena and against all odds, the blue team fighter had managed to turn the situation to his advantage. Despite his deep wound, he was launching a series of furious attacks against his opponent.

"Talking about the 'family', I saw Shaleez yesterday." said J'Ghasta in a conversational tone.

"And she did not try to kill you?" Lucien asked ironically.

"She came to me in order to renew her loyalty to the Black Hand and the Night Mother. And she begged me to forgive her for her recent errors of judgement." the Khajit replied, ignoring the sarcasm.

"Really? Don't tell me you believe her…" said Lucien, who wasn't making any effort to hide the exasperated tone in his voice.

J'Ghasta shrugged.

"It is not a matter of me believing her or not. I told her there was nothing to be forgiven… Lucien, what_ else_ did you want me to do?" J'Ghasta added quickly, as Lachance was about to protest. "Kill her on the spot?"

Lucien shut his mouth, but his eyes were clearly indicating that, yes, it might have been a _really_ good idea.

There was an awkward pause. J'Ghasta, who had heard of psychology but had never seen the point, showed more insight than usual. He knew Lucien too well not to notice how the latter was always carefully avoiding the whole subject of the traitor issue and of what happened as a result near Anvil. Had Lucien been more shaken by his ordeal than J'Ghasta thought ? They knew their plan involved some risks, but still…

"_We will need to have a small conversation about that…"_ thought the Khajit.

The Black Hand could not afford another internal strife as it would mean the end of the Dark Brotherhood. But for now, J'Ghasta decided to be tactful and quickly changed of subject.

"Anyway, how our little Breton friend is doing?"

"Oh, quite fine." replied Lucien, whose expression was now inscrutable. "She continues to put herself into troubles with great enthusiasm. She left to Bruma two days ago with a man called Baurus - who I strongly suspected to be a Blade. Apparently, Martin Septim is up to something and needs her help."

Lucien took a sip of his wine.

"I am not sure what he is planning exactly, but you are not calling to arms hundred of men for no particular reasons."

"And may I ask you what you are doing here if Trencavel is in Bruma, preparing for what look like a battle?" asked J'Ghasta. "Weren't you supposed to look after her?"

"I am kind of… allergic to battle fields." replied Lucien, wincing. "But don't worry, she won't be alone. I have sent some of our brothers who will take care of her."

The Speaker grinned inwardly at the thought. Trencavel was not going to like that at all. But business was definitely not working well at the moment, and the members of the Cheydinhall sanctuary needed a bit of exercise.

"All I hope is that Prince Charming is not planning something too… dangerous." Lucien continued. "I would be happy to get the members of my sanctuary back in one piece."

"'Prince Charming'?" asked the Khajit, puzzled.

"Martin Septim. Trencavel seems to have a huge crush on him." explained Lucien with a smile as he remembered Sigrid's reaction when she had seen Baurus at the Tiber Septim's Hotel.

"Funny, I thought she was stuck on you…" said J'Ghasta with a smirk. Lucien's smile grew wider but he did not reply.

"Well, everything is good then." continued the Khajit.

"Er, not really. And that's why I wanted to see you actually. There are a few recent developments I _really _don't like…"

J'Ghasta shot him an inquisitive look and Lucien explained him everything: Sigrid's investigations on the hourglass offered by the Night Mother, their little expedition to Celedaen's cave, Mahaut and Foulques Montfort's "intervention", Clairvaux' diary and the little conversation they overheard.

The more Lucien was saying, the more J'Ghasta was looking concerned.

"Who are those Montforts exactly?" the Khajit finally asked when Lucien finished his report.

"A very powerful Breton family. They are peers of the Empire and have a sit at the Elder Council. The Montforts and the Trencavels have been hating each other for centuries."

"Oh? And why?"

Lucien had a derisive laugh. As if Breton families needed a good reason to start fighting on another…

"I don't know… And I am sure they don't know either! Nevertheless, Sigrid's rather abrupt refusal to marry Foulques Montfort has certainly not helped to smooth things between the two families."

"Montfort…" said J'Ghasta, scratching his chin and looking thoughtful. "Yes, now I remember Rivanone mentioning them a few times."

"They really look determined to harm Trencavel's reputation and I believe they are in Ocato's good book." said Lucien. He looked around to make sure nobody was paying attention to them and lower his voice. "Before Sigrid and I parted ways, she told me that that Thoronir – the owner of the Copious Coinpurse – had been imprisoned by the Mage Guild for having provided Trencavel and me information on Celedaen."

"And what have the Montforts found out on Clairvaux?" asked J'Ghasta.

"Enough to create us problems."

J'Ghasta grunted. The situation was complicated enough already. They really didn't need that kind of problems.

"Do you think an… 'accounting' is going to be necessary?" asked Lucien, using the Dark Brotherhood's favourite euphemism to qualify an assassination.

"Maybe, but not now. It would be a bit premature. Nevertheless, we need to keep an eye on those Montforts."

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"I beg your pardon, but…'_We_'?"

J'Ghasta grinned.

"Well, they are two of them, Mahaut and Foulques, right? It would not be fair to leave you alone against them. That's why we are going to team-up like in the good old days." J'Ghasta passed a friendly arm around Lucien's shoulders. "So, happy?"

"Oh, I am ecstatic at the prospect…"

77777777777777777777

"… and as I already told you, it got stolen. But fortunately we managed to bring back the 'First Necromancers'." Mahaut Montfort concluded.

There was a pause, and the young mage shifted uneasily under assembly's gazes.

After the Montforts had come back from their expedition against Celedaen, Hannibal Traven had decided to convoke the Council of Mages for a great consultation. All the most powerful Guild members – Raminus Polus, Tar-Meena, Chancellor Ocato… – had answered his call and were now sitting around a huge semicircular table. The Archmage was presiding over the assembly, his piercing grey eyes fixed on Mahaut.

The girl did her best not to gulp. Traven was certainly brilliant, and probably one of the greatest mage alive, along with Ocato – and Mannimarco. But she knew that under his affable look was hidden an unwavering determination which could push him to the worst extremities. But of course, all this was always in the Mage Guild's best interest… Traven had proved many times before that he could be quite ruthless with those who were standing in his way and his fanatic hatred of necromancers was really disconcerting, even for someone as merciless as Mahaut.

Foulques, on the contrary, seemed perfectly at ease. Standing behind his sister, he was looking at the congregation with the faintest smirk on his handsome face.

"That's rather disturbing news." said Raminus Polus.

"Oh, come one!" said Ontus Vanin. "Everybody knows the story of Aymard Clairvaux and his hourglass is a legend!"

"Nirn being invaded by Daedroth was _also_ supposed to be a legend." said Polus bitterly.

Vanin smiled and shrugged and Mahaut turned her attention on him.

Ontus Vanin was probably one of the strangest people she had ever met. And one the most debated one. Some said he was a genius, others that he was completely mad. He used to teach at the University – he had been one of Mahaut's teachers for a year – but his radical and very personal views on the subject of magic had alienated him quite a number of his colleagues – among whose Hannibal Traven and Raminus Polus. Now, he was working as a researcher, but his skills as a mage had allowed him to keep a seat at the Council.

"It is just folklore, my dear Raminus. Folklore! A tale made up when the Dark Brotherhood was created in order to discourage the members who would have dared to take over what belonged to Sithis."

"But legends are often rooted in truth." Tar-Meena, the Head Librarian, observed softly.

"And we know for sure that Clairvaux, as well as being Manimarco's favourite disciple, also joined Dark Brotherhood." Raminus added. "Those facts are perfectly conformed to the rest of the story!"

Mahaut frowned at the words and turned toward Foulques. He was also looking rather surprised. _"How do they already know about that?"_ she mouthed. Foulques rolled his eyes and winced to express his ignorance.

"I am like Saint Jiub, Raminus. 'Seeing is believing'." Ontus was replying to Raminus. "And I will believe in your 'super lich' only when I will see it!"

"If only you could end up like Jiub!" snarled Raminus.

The two mages were now face to face, clearly ready to belt one another, while Tar-Meena was vainly trying to intervene between them. Mahaut cleared her throat and the mages stopped their arguments.

"Yes, Master Mahaut?" asked Raminus Polus, who was still holding Ontus by the collar of his robes.

"I beg your pardon, but would this honourable assembly mind letting my brother and I know exactly what's going on? How comes you seem to know information that were only disclosed into Clairvaux' diary?"

The mages exchanged embarrassed looks and finally turned toward the Archmage.

"Well, I don't object to let Masters Mahaut and Foulques into the secret." said Traven softly. "It is a bit too late anyway." he added sarcastically, shooting a severe glance at Ontus and Raminus, who looked embarrassed.

"You see, my dear child, there is an old legend saying that Aymard Clairvaux was the second necromancer to turn into a very powerful lich – the first one being, of course, Manimarco himself." started Tar-Meena, adopting a learned tone. "As you already know, Clairvaux was Manimarco's first and favourite disciple, and it did not take long before the student tried to copy his master."

Everybody in the room had felt silent and was intensely listening to Tar-Meena's story.

"At the same time, in Morrowind, the Morag Tong split into two, the second branch becoming the Dark Brotherhood. Clairvaux quickly joined their ranks – not without ulterior motives in the back of his twisted mind. Soon he started mixing his activities of assassin and necromancer, hijacking the souls of those offered to Sithis and using them to forge the vehicle that would allow him to transfer his soul out of his body."

Tar-Meena made a pause to spare the suspense, even if most of the audience knew how everything was going to end.

"But unfortunately for him, the Dread Father learnt it and sent some of his assassins to punish the traitor." Tar-Meena sighted. "From there, we are not sure of what happened to Clairvaux. Some say he was destroyed, other said he successfully turn into a lich, but was doomed to serve Sithis until the end of times… That is pretty much everything we knows."

"A very good summary, if I may say." approved Raminus.

"Yeah, for those who like tales…" Ontus sneered.

The two were ready to quarrel again, but Traven raised a hand to order them to keep quiet and turned toward a High Elf who was sitting at his right side.

"Ocato, my friend, what do you think of all this?"

Chancellor Ocato had remained silent during the whole argument, which did not mean he did not pay attention or did not care. Actually, it was his ability to listen that had made Emperor Uriel Septim to choose him as Chancellor.

"The hourglass is a powerful artefact." he finally said. "Even if we are not sure about Clairvaux's whereabouts, we must retrieve it and destroy it, as it may fall into the wrong hands…" The Chancellor had a joyless smile. "As you now, the situation is instable enough already and we really don't need more troubles."

"Does Trencavel know anything about the power of the hourglass?" asked Raminus.

"I highly doubt it." replied Traven. "Magic has never been Sigrid Trencavel's strongest asset."

Apart from Ontus and Tar-Meena, the rest of the mages in the room laughed and Traven himself could not retain a smile. Trencavel's inability to practise magic was probably as legendary as her artistic talents.

"_Funny case, that one, really…" _the Archmage thought. How the offspring of such a lineage of great mages could be _so _deprived of any kind of magical aptitude? Traven had shown some interest in the girl when she was a child, not so much for sympathy but because she was such an interesting subject for magical sciences. But unfortunately, he had soon to forget about his projects for her as her father and grand-mother had made clear they would strongly oppose any plan to turn Sigrid into the Arcane University's laboratory animal.

"Nevertheless, it doesn't mean she is not a threat." the Archmage continued once the audience became silent again. "We must be sure she is not offering help to the necromancers – not that she will be very helpful to them."

There was another wave of laughs, but this time, Traven did not smile.

He hated necromancers so much. They were dregs of magical practitioners. But he knew everybody did not share his view. The Archmage was not a fool: he was well aware his crusade against necromancers was growing particularly unpopular among mages as well as among common folks.

That was why he was quite happy to encourage the Montforts in investigating the matter. They were offering him on a plate the occasion to show that his crusade against necromancers was perfectly justified. Of course, Traven was aware of the ancestral hatred between the Monforts and the Trencavel, and he did not have much illusion on what really motivated Mahaut and Foulques. But even if they caused harm to a certain number of innocents – among whom Trencavel – it was definitely worth it.

"That's all good, but what are we going to do once in possession the hourglass?" asked Tar-Meena. "How are we going to destroy it? Celeaden's was already difficult enough to dispose of, and compared to Clairvaux, he was an amateur."

"There is only one artefact powerful enough to destroy Clairvaux' hourglass…" started Traven.

He brusquely stopped as he saw Ontus raising his eyes to the heaven.

"A problem, Ontus?" the Archmage asked coldly.

"Oh please, Hannibal, don't tell me you are taking all this seriously?"

"Yes, I am." replied the Archmage. "As Ocato said, we can't take any risk, and we need to fight evil with evil, Ontus." Traven turned toward the Montforts. "Master Mahaut, you will keep an eye on Trencavel for us. We need to know exactly what she is up to. And I have a very special assignment for you, Master Foulques… It may be a bit dangerous, but don't worry, you won't be alone." The Archmage then turned toward Ontus and flashed him a smile. "A very experienced colleague is going to escort you."

777777777777777777777777777777

As Sigrid and Baurus were getting nearer Bruma, the girl was growing worried. It was very late at night and the surroundings should have been pitched black. But they weren't. On the contrary, from the horizon was rising some kind of light which was illuminating the sky. As if a huge fire was burning in the direction of Bruma…

Sigrid shot Baurus regular inquisitive looks, but the latter carefully avoided meeting her eyes.

It is finally when they arrived near the city that Sigrid got the answer to her question. And honestly, she wished she had remained ignorant. Around Bruma's city wall had mysteriously appeared what looked like…

"A camp?" she asked to nobody in particular.

"_A huge military camp." _the Voice corrected her.

And it was right. The sea of tents was buzzing with hundred of armed men who were furbishing their weapons, getting ready for battle.

Sigrid gritted her teeth and slowly turned toward Baurus, looking incensed. The Blade gulped and instinctively hunched up his shoulder.

"What does _that_ mean?" she hissed, pointing at the camp.

The Redguard was now looking like a puppy having done something bad on the carpet and knowing he was going to have a hard time…

"Well, this is part of Martin's surprise."

"What_ kind_ of surprise?"

"I can't tell you. Martin will explain you everything." said Baurus quickly.

It had been his motto during all their travel and now it was really getting on Sigrid's nerves.

"Now, if you say that in that _stupid_ voice again, I swear their will be trouble!" she growled.

The Redguard was about to reply when something hit him on the head with a little _ting!_ noise.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed as the object landed in the snow a few feet away.

Sigrid walked toward the thing and picked it up from the ground. Then she looked up.

"A beer mug?" she said, frowning at the sky.

"I did not know they could fly." grunted Baurus, who was rubbing his head where the mug had hit him.

"They don't. That's why this one landed right on your head." said Sigrid nastily.

Suddenly, someone screamed above their heads and they just had the time to jump backward as a guard fell from the sky. He crashed at their feet and lied there, moaning in the snow. Sigrid looked from the guard up to the sky again.

"Hmmm, what do we have up there?" she asked Baurus, pointing at the buildings that were lining up above them.

"Er, a tavern, I think."

They exchanged an eloquent look and ran up the stairs to the tavern. There was no need to be particularly clever to work out what was going on. But it was the first time Sigrid saw guards falling from the sky during a bar brawl...

But as Baurus and she were about to get into the tavern, she suddenly froze.

She pinched herself to make sure she was not dreaming… or rather, having nightmares. Among the screams that were coming from inside, she had recognised some of the voices, and she wished she was wrong.

"_Oh no, it can't be them, can it?"_

Sigrid took a deep breath and went trough the tavern's smashed doors. Several people were still standing up in the tavern, and, among them were an Orc and an Argonian.

"_Well, I am afraid it is them."_ said the Voice cheerfully.

Sigrid sighted in exasperation and contemplated the tavern turned into a battlefield. Most of the furniture had been smashed, and some guards were lying on the floor, moaning in pain.

Standing in the middle of the mess, Gogron gro-Bolmog had caught a watchman by the ankles and was having fun making his head bouncing on the ground while behind him Teinaava had cornered two other guards and was holding them in respect with his small but sharp dagger. A third person was sitting at the only table which had not been smashed up, reading and looking completely unconcerned by what was happening around him. He was all dressed in black and carefully hooded. Only his eyes can be seen, but it was enough for Sigrid to identify him, as she would have been able to recognise those eyes anywhere…

"Sigrid!" Gogron exclaimed as he spotted the girl. He dropped the guard, who collapsed on the floor. In three steps, the Orc was near her and he gave her one his typical Orchish hug.

"Hey, you know them?" Baurus asked.

Sigrid ignored him and tried her best to prevent Gogron from breaking her ribs.

"What are you doing here?" she asked coldly to the Orc.

"Huh, you don't seem very happy to see us." Teinaava chuckled. He had let the two guards go and they were now picking up their wounded friends. Then they rushed out of the tavern. "But it is OK. Lucien warned us you wouldn't."

"Ah! I should have known Lucien was behind this." replied Sigrid between gritted teeth.

"Oh, so you are friend with Lucien?" Baurus asked Gogron and Teinaava.

Sigrid sighted. She'd better introduce them now if she did not want to be interrupted every ten seconds.

"Well, Baurus, let me introduce you Gogron and Teinaava. Guys, this is Baurus. And yes, they know Lucien."

"Nice to meet you." said the Redguard. A mischievous smile appeared on his face. "Do you also fight around naked?"

Gogron blinked.

"Er, I beg your pardon?" asked Teinaava.

"No, they don't!" spat Sigrid. "Now tell me how you managed to get there before I did?" she said turning toward Teinaava.

"Well…" said the Argonian. "_Our _horses are still alive. Not like yours…"

"And you know what, Teinaava? You can ride back to where you come from on your very alive horses!"

"No, we won't." said a voice.

Everybody's gaze turned on the hooded man who slowly closed his book, stood up and walked toward the group

"We are to help you." continued the hooded stranger.

"I don't need your help, Vicente Valtieri." Sigrid growled as the vampire was coming nearer.

"Well, Lucien doesn't think so. That's why he has instructed us to stay with you." replied Vicente. "And this is exactly what we are going to do, whether you like it or not… And there is no need to argue." Vicente added as Sigrid opened her mouth to protest.

The vampire and the girl glared at each other. In the room, nobody dared to make a move or speak as the tension was palpable.

"_If you think you are going to outstare me, you are kidding yourself!"_ Sigrid thought. But she felt her resolution faltering when her eyes starting to water after a dozen of seconds.

Fortunately, this was the moment Captain Burd and ten Bruma's guards chose to burst out into the tavern. Burd looked at the mess in the room, then at the little group which was standing in the middle of it. His eyes were moving from the Teinaava, Gogron and Vicente to Sigrid and Baurus, apparently hesitating on the conduct to adopt. But he finally seemed to make up his mind and executed a perfect military salute.

"Greetings, lady Trencavel. Martin Septim and Countess Carvain are requiring your presence at the Chapel of Talos. As for you…" he added turning toward the members of the Dark Brotherhood and adopting a less friendly tone "… you are kindly going to follow me to Bruma's castle where we will be happy to offer you the hospitality of our jails!"

Sigrid sighted inwardly. "_Why me?"_ she thought as she walked toward Burd.

"They are with me, Captain." the girl said, trying not to meet Vicente's eyes. "Captain Burd, this is Gogron, Teinaava and Vicente, some… friends of mine."

Vicente bowed his head to salute him whereas Teinaava and Gogron beamed at the guards, who carefully took a step backward. Burd made a disapproving face.

"Well, in that case…" he said, making a move with his hand to dismiss the guard. "Now, if you don't mind, we'd better hurry. The Countess doesn't like to wait."

777777777777777777

It is a rather annoyed Sigrid who arrived at the chapel a few minutes later. And given from what she could hear, she was not the only person being in a bad mood…

A small group of people had gathered in the centre of the building and were arguing quite loudly. Sigrid recognised Jauffre, who was looking at two other persons quarrelling. When the Blade Master saw the girl, he quickly looked away.

"_Hum, it seems he has not forgiven you your last dispute."_ said the Voice.

"_Neither have I." _replied Sigrid.

One of the two quarrelling people appeared to be Narina Carvain, the Countess of Bruma, who was having a very heated debate with a knight wearing a remarkable armour.

"There is _no way_ you are going to use Bruma as a… a _bait_ for the Mythic Dawn!" Carvain spat. "I don't want to see my city ending up like Kvatch!"

"If we don't try, it is Nirn which is going to end up like Kvatch!" replied the knight. "I know it is risky, but we have no other choice. We need them to open a Great Gate in order to retrieve a Great Sigil stone!"

Sigrid watched at the knight's back, bewildered.

"Martin?" she asked, sceptical.

Martin Septim turned round and beamed at the girl.

Sigrid's eyes popped out of her head.

"_Gosh, he is looking…" _

"… _rather hot in an armour?"_ finished the Voice sarcastically.

Indeed, Martin was looking… well, maybe not "hot", but from him was definitely emanating some kind of charisma.

"Sigrid! Glad to see you, my friend!" exclaimed Martin, hugging the girl.

"Well, I am glad to see you too Martin." replied Sigrid, wincing as she gently extracted herself from his arms in order to put some space between the sharpest part of the armour and some very sensitive areas of her anatomy. "Countess..." she added, bowing at Carvain.

"And you have brought us some reinforcements, I see!" exclaimed Martin.

"Martin, let me introduce you Vicente, Gogron and Teinaava."

Exhibits A, B and C bowed their head to Martin who saluted them back.

"Now," Sigrid continued, "I want you to confirm what I have just overheard: do you _really _want to let the Mythic Dawn open a Great Gate near Bruma?"

"Yes, I do."

Sigrid blinked, speechless. She believed she had misunderstood him first, but apparently not…

"Are you crazy?!" she finally exploded once she recovered from her surprise. "Why on Nirn would you do that?"

"I said she was not going to like it…" whispered Baurus to himself. Jauffre shot him a severe look.

"A Great Sigil Stone is the last artefact needed to perform the ritual which will allow us to open a gate to Mankar Camoran's paradise." replied Martin, who did not seem to be offended by Sigrid's reaction. "And the only way to get a Great Sigil stone is to let Merhunes Dagon's followers to open a Great Gate."

"And don't you think they are going to suspect a trap? I mean, with all your troops camping right outside Bruma, it is a bit obvious, isn't it?"

"Ah, you see? Even the hero of Kvatch thinks it is silly and dangerous!" exclaimed Carvain.

"I did not say that!" protested Sigrid. "Well, I am not saying it very clever and safe either but…"

"Listen Sigrid." Martin interrupted her. "If there was another way, I swear I would have chosen it. But it is not the case."

There was a pause. Everybody was looking at Sigrid, waiting for her answer.

"Fine." she finally said. "But I am going to lead the troops. It is too dangerous. We need the Amulet, but if… if anything happened to you, it won't be of any use to us."

"No, I will lead the army." said Martin.

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will."

"Jauffre, please!" asked Sigrid, in desperation.

The Blade Master, who had kept silent during the argument but was glaring at Vicente, Gogron and Teineeva rather menacingly, shrugged.

"Martin made his choice, and the Blades will stand by his side."

"So, what am I going to do?" asked Sigrid bitterly. "Did you make me coming here only to approve your suicidal plan?"

"No, I have asked for your help because we need you to get through the Great Gate and retrieve the stone. The battle is just… a diversion."

"And what if I say I refuse?" asked Sigrid defiantly.

"You won't."

A feeling of anger slowly rose in Sigrid's chest. Damn, why was she so easy to manipulate? Martin had decided to present her with a fait accompli because he perfectly knew she could not refuse.

"It is not up to me to decide of the fate of Bruma. What do you think, Countess?"

Nirana Carvain was looking rather grim, but also resolute. Apparently, she had made up her mind.

"I am afraid we don't have the choice…" she sighted. "Burd deploys the troop for battle!"

Burd gratified her with on of his perfect military salute.

"As you command, Countess!"

And both swiftly left the chapel. Boiling with anger, Sigrid turned toward Martin.

"Well, except if you have another great surprise for me, I'd better go and get ready…"

And without waiting for an answer, she quickly left the chapel.

7777777777777777777

Sitting between two battlements of the parapet, Sigrid was trying to decipher Clairvaux' diary. But Mahaut had been right. The thing was damn difficult to understand. It was half-coded, and the author was using very obscure metaphors and symbolic. Plus, the perspective of going back to Oblivion did not help her to focus on what she was reading.

"_I just don't get a single word of what is written there."_ Sigrid thought, sounding discouraged.

"_Maybe you should get some help?" _ the Voice suggested. "_Ask Martin. He seems pretty gifted at cracking coded books."_

Sigrid grunted. Martin had enough problems to deal with. And she was not in the mood to talk to him at the moment anyway.

The sounds of footsteps suddenly resounded in the stairs. Sigrid looked up as Valtieri's hooded face materialised in her field of view.

"Ah, here you are!" he exclaimed. "Martin is looking for you everywhere."

Sigrid did not bother to answer and turned her attention back on the book.

"What are you reading?"

"A book." replied Sigrid flatly.

Vicente sighted.

"Would you mind explaining me what I have done to deserve such acrimony?"

"You should not have come here. You don't know in what kind of trouble you may put me into…"

Sigrid remembered Jauffre's expression in the Chapel when he was looking at the Cheydinhall sanctuary's members. He suspected something, but she was not sure how the Blade Master was going to react.

"Trouble worst than having to fight against a Daedric Prince?"

"Vicente, you are an assassin. And this is not _assassination_ we are talking about here, but _war_. Battlefield! Not cosy indoors killings! Do you, Teineeva or Gogron have _any_ experience of the front line?"

"Why, do you?" asked Vicente sarcastically.

"_Good point."_ chuckled the Voice

Sigrid was completely taken aback. She was not expecting such a kind of reply. Of course, the vampire was right. She was a good warrior, but had no experience in battles.

"We are grown up adults and we are perfectly aware of the risks of our mission." continued Vicente. "Plus, you seem to forget that Gogron and I were experienced warriors before becoming assassins, and Teinaava is not completely inoffensive either… Plus, from what I have understood, our mission consists more in infiltration rather than battling."

Sigrid made a face, but she knew the vampire was right.

"I appreciate your efforts to protect us, really." he carried on. "But I think you have done enough by saving us from the Purification…"

Valtieri tried not to smile at the girl's amazement.

"But how do…?"

"… I know? You see, I am a rather old vampire, and I am perfectly aware of the kind of measures the Dark Brotherhood can take to protect itself. To solve the traitor problems, there were not too many solutions…"

"Why did not you try to run away?"

The vampire shrugged.

"To go where? The Cheydinhall sanctuary is my only home and its members my only family. No one is waiting for me anywhere anymore... So, it would have been pointless, wouldn't it?"

Vicente had tried to sound cheerful while saying this, but failed. And Sigrid perfectly knew to whom the "no one" was referring to.

"_One day, I will have to ask him about his relationship with my grand-mother…"_ she thought.

"Fine." she said aloud. "To tell you the truth, I am actually glad you are here. But please, no more tavern brawls – or Burd is going to kill me. And I don't want to hear anyone telling you something like 'Pardon me, your teeth are in my neck!'. I don't think Martin would appreciate it much either…"

"Speaking of the devil…" said Valtieri as he spotted an armoured silhouette who was walking toward them. "I think he has finally found you."

Despite the weight of his armour, Martin hastily climbed the stairs. Vicente nodded at him and left them alone, a knowing smile on his face.

Sigrid pursed her lips and turned her back to Martin.

"You are still upset, aren't you?" he asked.

Sigrid remained silent. She was looking at the camp outside Bruma. If she had been impressed first by its size, now she realised that there were not as many soldiers as she had thought first. The counts and countesses of Cyrodiil had not been really generous. But Sigrid could not blame them. At least, every city had sent soldiers… Well, every city, except one, and its absence was blatant and meaningful.

"Where is the Legion from the Imperial City?" she finally whispered.

Martin sighted.

"Ocato decided that protecting the Imperial City, even if not threatened directly by an Oblivion Gate, was more vital than assisting us in defending Bruma… I don't know why, but I have the feeling he is not taking me seriously."

Martin had said this with a smile, but there was bitterness in his voice. Despite her anger, Sigrid felt her heart melting in her chest.

"_They are… so different." _

How could she be attracted by two _completely_ dissimilar men? They were both standing at each extremity of the spectrum. Lucien on one side, with his "great predator" attitude, his ruthlessness, his sarcasms and cynicism. And Martin on the other side, the hidden son of Uriel Septim, the altruist priest of Akatosh with his hangdog look who was ready to risk his life to save an Empire he was not even sure to get as a reward.

"When do you think the Mythic Dawn will launch an attack?" Sigrid asked.

"We don't know. But they have been very active in the last few hours, so I would say tomorrow."

Sigrid shivered in the cold of the night and she realised she was just wearing a simple shirt. She felt something was put on her shoulders. Martin had taken off his cape and had put it on her back. Then he bent toward her, hesitating, and quickly kissed her on the cheek.

"Take care." he said and he rapidly walked away.

Shocked, Sigrid looked at him disappearing in the dark.

"You too." she finally whispered, her fingers stroking the place where his lips had touched her skin.


	13. The Battle of Bruma

**Chapter 13**

**I would like to apologise for several things in this chapter:**

**a) The cute ate my brain. It really did. :D**

**b) I don't remember every details of Bruma's battle so I hope you will forgive me if I don't stick to the exact scenario (given the fact that I have already moved faaaaaar away from the original storyline, I believe nobody would mind...).**

**c) I don't really think all that I am describing below can happen within 15 minutes, but, hey, after all, they are doing that all the times in movies...**

**d) I am perfectly aware that if you go anywhere near lava. And that a corpse plunged into magma is certainly not going to float around. But physics seems to work differently in Oblivion and Nirn...**

**e) Technically, the plural of "Daedra" is "Daedroth", but it was getting confusing when I was writing, so I used "Daedras" instead. And to tell the truth, I don't really care much about Elfic grammar (I have enough to do with English one…). ;)**

**e) Talking about grammar, my automatic spelling checker is not working, so I hope the text won't be too full of mistakes...: S**

**Now I have finished apologising, hope you'll enjoy :)**

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"A bit chilly isn't it?" asked Gogron cheerfully.

Sigrid groaned an unintelligible answer and blew in her hands to bring back some life to them. Chilly? She was freezing! But Gogron and Vicente were supporting the cold quite well. Even Teinaava, who had spent part of his childhood in the warm and humid swamps of the Black Marsh, did not seem to be bothered by the polar temperature.

Sigrid shot a very dark glance at the Oblivion gate that had opened earlier during the night. They had been waiting here for more than half an hour and nothing had happened yet. And Sigrid did not like it at all...

"Do you think the Mythic Dawn is suspecting something?" asked Teinaava, as if he had read her mind.

"Hmm, who knows what to expect with them?" she replied in a tired voice.

The battle had not even started, and she felt exhausted already. But it was true they did not get a very long night. Actually, they did not sleep at all...

When Sigrid had come back to the Cloud Ruler Temple main hall earlier that night, shouts coming from the inside had alarmed her first. Remembering the fight the Dark Brotherhood members had started at the tavern as well as Jauffre's expression when he was looking at them in the Chapel of Talos, she had instinctively reached her sword.

"_By the Nines, I hope they are not killing each other..."_ she had thought, opening the door and expecting the worst.

But of the instead of a blood bath, Sigrid had found a rather enthusiastic Gogron who was miming his latest tavern's brawl in Bruma, for the audience greatest pleasure. Mesmerized, she had sat in a corner of the room and had watched the show. Martin and Baurus were beaming while the rest of the Blades in the room were crying with laughter. Even Vicente could not retain a smile.

Apparently, Martin had made a very good impression on the members of the Cheydinhall sanctuary, and vice versa. Sigrid knew she should not have been surprised. After all, Teinaava, Gogron and Vicente were professional assassins, and, as such, perfectly able to adapt to any kind of situations. As for Martin, he had this amazing ability to inspire people who knew him with indefectible loyalty...

"_Indeed, look at you!"_ had said the Voice mischievously.

"_It is not only about being... attracted to him, you know."_ Sigrid had replied. _"The Blades not only follow him because they have to. I mean, look at them! They are supporting him because they know they can rely on him. Even the cold and ruthless Narina Carvain trusts him!" _

"_This was quite an achievement..."_ the Voice had agreed.

And they had spent most of the night talking old friends, exchanging anecdotes and stories, as well as discussing the strategy to adopt regarding the future battle against Merhunes Dagon's forces. From time to time, Martin had been looking into her direction, but Sigrid had carefully avoided his eyes and had remained hidden in the shadows of the rooms, away from the little group. She did not want anybody to see her blushing every time Martin's eyes gaze was falling on her...

Unfortunately, Jauffre had not seemed to appreciate Martin's new frequentations, and Sigrid had seen her worst fears confirmed when the Blades Master, grabbing her by the arm, had discreetly dragged her into a remote corner of the room.

"How dared you to bring _them_ here?" Jauffre had hissed. "Are you mad?"

Sigrid had felt a shiver running along her spine.

"_He knows...He knows about them being from the Brotherhood."_ she had thought.

Despite her fear, she had tried to take one of her most innocent expression.

"I beg your pardon?" she had asked Jauffre in a very stupid voice.

This had seemed to infuriate the Blades Master even more. He had strengthened his grip on Sigrid's harm, making her wincing.

"You perfectly know what I am talking about." Jauffre had said between greeted teeth.

"Jauffre, you are hurting me." Sigrid replied coldly.

The girl's answer had seemed to destabilise the Blades Master. Turning to good account his hesitation, she had freed her arm from his grip and taken a step away from him to put some distance between them.

"They are from the Dark Brotherhood, aren't they?" he whispered menacingly.

The girl did not bother to ask Jauffre how he had worked that out. Her fear had gradually been turning into anger, and she was too busy fighting against the urge to jump at his throat.

"Well, if you are so sure of yourself, why asking me then?" she had snarled. "But to tell the truth, I am quite please to see you are at least a bit more concerned with Martin's security than Uriel's..."

At these words, Jauffre had turned very red in the face and had looked like he was going to slap her.

"I know I have made a mistake." he said in a breath, and Sigrid had felt all his hatred and despise toward her. "But being the 'Hero of Kvatch' doesn't allow you to hurl it at me everytime you feel like it... or to put the Septim's heir life at risk by introducing assassins in his entourage!"

"They have come here to help us!" protested Sigrid.

"And it did not come to your stupid little mind that they may work for the Mythic Dawn?"

"The Brotherhood's would not gain anything in helping Dagon's supporters, and you know it!"

Sigrid had tried to keep her voice low not to draw to much attention on them.

"Oh, and I guessed it is one of your beloved and respected Brother who told you that?" asked Jauffre ironically.

"_It is Lucien Lachance, to be precise."_ started the Voice mischievously. _"You know, the guy who manipulated us and risked the lives of his sanctuary's members in order to settle a personal grudge against his hierarchy..." _

"_Shut up, you!"_ spat Sigrid mentally.

But it was too late as doubt had started to spread into her mind. Damn, she had hated the Voice and Jauffre for confusing her like this. But they had made a point. Could she really believe what Lucien had told her? It had sounded perfectly reasonable first, but after all, was "reasonable" an adjective which could be applied to the Dark Brotherhood?

"If _anything_ happens to Martin," Jauffre continued in a low, threatening voice, "I swear that you and your little friends will pay dearly."

And he brusquely had left, leaving Sigrid shaking with rage. She perfectly knew her relationship with the Blade Master had deteriorated a lot over the past few weeks, but she had never thought she would have to consider him as an enemy.

When she had finally managed to calm down, she had come back to the centre of the main hall, where her eyes had met Vicente's inquisitive ones.

"_Has he managed somehow to listen to my argument with Jauffre?"_

This did not really matter anyway, as she would have to warn him about what had just happened with the Blades Master. But when?

Not sure about the conduct to adopt, she merely had shrugged and come back to her sit when the main hall doors had opened violently and a Blade had come in.

"A gate!" he exclaimed, trying to take his breath back. "The Mythic Dawn has opened an Oblivion gate outside Bruma!"

And this was how they ended up waiting here, on a hill outside Bruma, trying not to freeze alive...

"Hey, what is Martin doing?" asked Teinaava again, taking Sigrid out of her daylight dreaming.

Gogron and Sigrid craned their neck to try to take a better look at the small silhouette that was walking up and down the front line of soldiers.

"Haranguing the troops I guess." replied Vicente, who was carefully checking his equipment for the tenth time. "This is kind of traditional to give a speech to your troops before a battle, you see."

They remained quiet for a moment and listened to the words the wind was bringing to them.

"Not bad." said Gogron after a while.

"Yes, quite inspiring." approved Teinaava.

"Maybe a bit too... classical?" added Vicente.

"Would you mind _shutting up_?" spat Sigrid. "I am trying to listen to what Martin is saying!"

"_It may well be the last time I can hear the sound of his voice..."_ she added to herself. She frowned and almost slapped herself in the face. This was definitely_ not_ the moment to become romantic.

"Oooh, sorry..." chuckled Gogron, nudging her in the ribs. "We did not want to be irrespective to your _beloved_..."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ah, come on! When you two are looking at each other, it's like oil boiling into a frying pan!" the Orc giggled.

Sigrid moaned inwardly. If even Gogron, who was certainly not an idiot but had the psychological finesse of a bull in a China shop, had noticed it, all Bruma was certainly aware of her feelings toward the last of the Septims' heir.

"_Bruma's inhabitants, as well as Jauffre..."_ said the Voice in Sigrid's head.

The girl winced inwardly. The Blades Master was certainly not happy to know that his precious heir had a love affair with a Child of Sithis.

"Martin is a very fine person." continued Teinaava, clearly delighted to stick his oar to the conversation. "Lucien chose his nickname very well... 'Prince Charming suits Martin perfectly!"

Sigrid blinked.

"Lachance called Martin _what_?!"

"Sorry to interrupt your fascinating conversation, but I think something is happening over there..." said Vicente in voice that meant the show was over.

They stopped arguing and looked in the direction of the Oblivion gate. A small figure was standing at the gate's step, and Sigrid immediately identified a Clannfear. Looking rather lost, it was running around the gate, screaming in a very pathetic way.

Gogron smirked.

"Is this all Merhunes Dagon can do?"

An arrow flew from the human armies' rows and landed in the ground near the Clannfear. It jumped sideways to avoid the dart and looked at it curiously. It really shouldn't have done that, because by doing so, it did not see the second arrow which hit him in the small of the back. The Clannfear collapsed in the snow twisting and crying in pain. As if they had heard its screams, two bigger Clannfears got through the gate.

"Ah, looks like Mummy and Daddy are not happy!" laughed Gogron.

The Clannfears walked toward the wounded one, and started sniffing the air in a rather menacing way.

"Yes, and it seems the rest of family is joining the party as well... Look!" exclaimed Teinaava.

A growing number of dark silhouettes was crossing the gate. There were Clannfears, Scamps, but also Daedroth and of course, Dremoras. They were taking place in front of the gate in a concert of growls, shrieks and other kinds of peeping.

The human soldiers did not make a move. Sigrid could not see their face, but she could perfectly feel their anxiety. And no doubt the Daedras were detecting it as well...

And suddenly, as one man – or rather, one Daedra – Merhunes Dagon's troops rushed against Martin armies. The shock between the two armies was one of the most violent and terrible thing Sigrid had seen in her entire life.

Almost simultaneously, the second gate opened. This time, there was no "slack period" and the new gate almost immediately started to vomit hundreds of Daedroth. The shock between the human armies and the second wave of Daedric troops was as violent as the first one. The smell of blood as well as the screams of the injured and agonising were rising from the plain.

"May the Night Mother look upon us..." whispered Teinaava. He was looking quite pale now.

Sigrid replied nothing. A lump had come to her throat as she was desperately trying to identify Martin among the fighters.

"_Maybe he is hurt already... or dead..."_ she thought.

"_Don't worry."_ said the Voice_. "Jauffre and the Blades will protect him."_

"_Is that supposed to put my mind at rest?!"_

"Should we go now?" growled the Gogron. "I have pins and needles in my axe..."

"No." said Vicente. "Martin had been pretty clear about this. We need to wait for the Great Gate to open."

"Well, hope it is going to appear soon, because the troops won't be able to resist for long..."

And as if Merhunes Dagon himself had decided to grant Gogron his wish, there was another flash of light.

And in a terrible rumbling, the Great Gate opened.

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It is traditional – even compulsory! – for some kind of countdown to start when the heroes are in a rush.

Depending on the situation, it can take the form of a talking computer warning of the self-destruction of a secret base hidden somewhere, the chronometer of the guys who have to rob a bank in less than five minutes or some kind of bomb timer announcing an imminent explosion...

Of course, none of those – computers, chronometers, bombs... – existed in Nirn. Nevertheless, the universal principle of narration in dramatic situation demanded a countdown of some sort to start.

And so the countdown started.

_15..._

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_15..._

"Let's go!" exclaimed Sigrid, pointing at the Great Gate which had just materialised between the two first gates.

"Great! But do you have any idea of how we are going to achieve that?" asked Teinaava, making a face as he looked at the battlefield bloody melee. "We will be torn to pieces before we can reach the gate..."

Behind them Vicente and Gogron exchanged a knowing look.

"Vicente, are you pondering what I am pondering?" asked the Orc with a smile.

The vampire grinned back.

"I think I am, my friend. I just hope it is not going to end up like at Scaffold Manor... " he replied, taking his huge Dwemer sword out of his sheath.

"Sigrid, climb on my shoulders." said Gogron, as he kneeled on the ground.

Sigrid raised an interrogative eyebrow.

"But what for?" she protested. "And what happened at Scaffold Manor?"

"As for you, Teinaava," continued Gogron, ignoring Sigrid, "just try to stay in our trail, right?"

The Argonian did not try to discuss Gogron's order and nodded in agreement. The Orc then turned back toward Valtieri.

"Do you think you will be able to make it to the Gate?" he asked to the vampire.

"Ah!" Vicente sniggered. "Don't underestimate vampires' physical strength, my friend!"

"Are you two going to tell us what you have in mind?" asked Sigrid, sounding rather annoyed and also a bit scared as she was trying to find a hold to stabilise herself on Gogron's shoulders.

"You are going to see that in second..." replied the Orc. "Right, shall we go now?"

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_15..._

Martin stuck his sword into the Dremora's stomach – or at least, what he assumed to be his stomach, as Daedric biology had never been his favourite subject. He took a run up, turned around and killed a Daedra. And then another. And another...

It seemed like the fight was never going to end. It was like facing the legendary Black Marsh Hydra. You killed one opponent and two other ones were immediately replacing him.

From a military point of view, Martin was perfectly aware the battle was lost before it started. They were just there to make a diversion and all their hopes were relying on Sigrid and her friends now.

Martin looked at the Great Gate. Where was she? Did she manage to get to Oblivion? He wished he had found the strength last night to tell her he...

"Septim! Watch out!" yelled a voice.

Martin turned around and his eyes widened in horror as he saw a huge Daedroth running toward him, jaws gaping and claws ready to torn him apart.

He jumped backward clumsily to avoid the attack, but he was not quick enough and he felt the Daedroth's claws scraping out his armour.

Panting, he got back to guard, ready to face another charge, and winced. He quickly looked down at his chest. The Daedroth keen claws had managed to run through his armour and had left three long and bloody slashes in his skin.

Martin looked up and stood firm. The Daedroth was charging him already. But suddenly, it stopped and collapsed in a spray of blood, hocks cut.

"This one won't cause us trouble anymore!" exclaimed Baurus, jumping on the Daedroth's body and sticking his blade in its throat. "You'd better be a bit more careful Martin!"

"_At least, one of us who is enjoying himself..."_ thought Martin as he watched Baurus disappearing into the fray.

Martin sighted and tried to take Sigrid out of his mind. Baurus was right. If he wanted to survive and have a chance to tell Sigrid what he had been trying to tell her for weeks, he'd better focus on the battle...

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_15..._

Bruma's inhabitants had gathered on the city wall's parapets to follow the battle from there. There were not many people left in town. Only those who were too weak, too old or too young to join Martin Septim's troops and help them to fight against the Daedric invaders had remained. Captain Burd had also insisted that Countess Carvain kept a few guards with her. Just in case...

"_In case of what?"_ wondered the Countess, watching the battlefield sceptically.

If Septim and Trencavel failed, it was not a handful of soldiers who were going to save the day...

Her attention got drawn by a discussion. Some people were commenting on the battle that had just started.

"We are lost." said an old woman. "

"Akatosh is with us." said an equally old man in a reassuring voice. "He has sent us Martin, the last of the Septim, to defeat Merhunes Dagon!"

And he turned toward the Countess, his facing radiating trust. The Countess sighted and turned her eyes away from him. She wished she had the old man's faith. As if the Gods cared about their existence! She had never trusted them and had always relied on herself only to get a job down.

She thought of Martin Septim. He was a priest, but he did not rely on Gods either. And whether blessed or not by Akatosh, Carvain had to admit that he was not lacking determination and courage.

"_Hope that will be enough to defeat the Daedric Prince of Chaos and Destruction."_ she thought.

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_12..._

Sigrid was not sure of what happened _exactly_. A few minutes ago, she was standing on that hill outside Bruma with Gogron, Vicente and Teinaava and the next moment she was in Oblivion, covered in blood – not her, fortunately.

All she could remember were bits of Daedra flying around her, as well as Gogron axe skimming pass her head dangerously. Apparently, the Daedras had been quite surprised by the Dark Brotherhood furious charge and Vicente and Gogron had cut through it as easily as knife trough butter.

"We have done it!" boomed Gogron as they were carefully hiding behind a bunch of crumbled rocks.

"Shhh..." whispered Teinaava, looking around nervously. "Nobody had seen us yet, and I wish we could finish this mission without being tailed by Dagon's armies."

The charge had not been as blind as Sigrid had thought first. Gogron and Vicente had carefully calculated their attack, making them crossing the Great Gate right between two waves of Daedric troops, thus avoiding them

"So, what next?" asked Vicente very calmly, turning toward Sigrid.

The vampire had taken off his hood and mask. His eyes were glowing red and he was also covered in blood, but apart from that, he looked perfectly in control. The girl was really impressed by the vampire's ability to deal with... difficult situations. It seemed that nothing could destabilize him. He was sitting here, in Oblivion, in the suffocating atmosphere of a landscape mainly composed by rivers of magma and dark rocks, surrounded by hundreds of Daedras which were preparing to invade Nirn, without minding much apparently.

"We need to climb up that tower before the siege engine gets through the Gate." she said. _"And we'd better hurry..."_ she added to herself, getting up and showing them the way.

She had taken a glimpse of the siege engine when they had entered Oblivion, and she shivered when remembering what Kvatch survivors had told her about the horrors it was capable of...

"Interesting, really." started Vicente as they were running across the chaotic landscape. "According to many scholars' books, Dagon's realms, the 'Deadlands', are supposed to be dark, stormy, full of dark twisted trees, howling spirits and mist. It seems that they were wrong."

"You know, I really don't think Merhunes Dagon reads many books..." said Teinaava. "Huh, a problem Sigrid? "

The girl had brusquely stopped, and when Vicente and Teinaava got near her, they realised why.

A bridge had been conveniently straddling over a river of lava, but for some reason, it was broken in the middle.

"Ah, shame!" exclaimed Teinaava, shaking his head. "It seems that Dagon had never heard about

"Should we make an about-turn?" asked Vicente.

"No, we can't, we really don't have the time!" Sigrid replied.

She bitted her lips. For the first time, she was feeling completely lost in Oblivion. Damn, it had never happened to her before! Usually, it was almost as if the way to the Sigil Stone was sign-post with arrows...

All three turned around like one man as they heard a huge metallic noise behind them, like dozens of saucepans banging together.

Gogron, tangled up in his heavy Dwemer armour, could not move as easily as his friends on the stony ground and he had stumbled and fallen noisily somewhere between two huge granite boulders.

Above them, alerted by the racket, a group of Daedras were pointing at them and giving the alert.

"Oh, _great_!" said Teinaava. "Well done, Gogron!"

A huge hand emerged from behind a stone.

"I am fine, thank you for asking..." grunted the Orc as he extracted himself from the rocks.

"We are cornered." said Sigrid, looking worryingly at the Daedras. "No one can jump over that."

Vincent gave one of his polite cough.

"Well, you can't _jump_..." he said carefully. "But I think Gogron and I are strong enough to throw you and Teinaava on the other side..."

Sigrid shot him a walked carefully near the bridge. She looked down at the pit full of lava and then turned toward Vicente.

"No way." she said flatly.

"Come on..."

"I said: no way! I am not going to let you guys throw me over that lava pit!"

She started running along the bridge edge, looking around to find a hypothetical escape.

"There should be another..." she started. "Hey! What do you think you are doing!?"

Vicente and Gogron had caught her by the ankles and the wrists while she was not looking.

"Sorry for that Sigrid," said Vicente as the girl was struggling to free herself from their grip, "but as you said, we don't have the time... OK Gogron, on the count of three: one, two..."

"Put me back down! Put me back down, you bunch of...! Arrrrgh!" Sigrid yelled.

She saw the border of the bridge coming toward her at high speed. Vicente and Gogron had badly calculated her trajectory and she received the edge right in the ribs. The shock cut her breath while she drove her nails in the ground not to slide backward.

Teinaava made a perfect landing near her and rushed toward her to give her a hand.

"Hey, that was fun!" he exclaimed as he helped Sigrid to get on the bridge. "Let's try it again...! Just joking..." he added quickly when his eyes met Sigrid's.

"We'd better go..." she groaned. "But before that, there is something I need to do..."

On the other side of the bridge, Vicente and Gogron looked at Sigrid gesturing and yelling at them before she turned her back to them and started to run, followed by Teinaava.

"What did she say?" the Orc asked.

"Hmm, probably something very, _very_ nasty about Orcs and vampires..." smiled Vicente.

Sounds of footsteps as well as screams coming from non-human throats resounded somewhere behind them.

"And now, we'd better get ready…"

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_10..._

Tolgan, Narina's Carvain herald, was in great distress. He was running behind his mistress, sweating and gasping for breath, and trying not to get outdistanced.

"Countess, please! Listen to me" he panted. "This is madness! You can't..."

"I have asked you to fetch me my armour, not to comment on my decisions!" replied Carvain dryly, without turning around.

"But your Highness...!"

"Shut up, Tolgan!"

"Yes, your Highness."

Tolgan had always been Narina Carvain's faithful servant. He had started working for her in the early years of her reign and had not left her since then. He was the first to admit his mistress was not a very easy person to live with. But this time, she was going a bit too far...

They were now in the throne room. The Countess removed a key from around her neck and started to open on of her precious display cabinets, the ones who contained Akaviri weapons.

"Please, Countess, don't go..." he begged her. "It won't change the issue of the battle anyway."

"You may be right, but my decision is irrevocable. Everybody is defending my city but me!" she mumbled as she retrieved an Akaviri Katana from the display cabinet.

"And now, tell the remaining guard to meet me at the main city gate." ordered the Countess. "We are going to attempt a sortie."

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_8..._

"Er, are you sure we are going in the right direction?" asked Teinaava. "Everything looks the same here..."

"Yes, it's over there!" replied Sigrid, pointing at another grey door.

"_Well, I think..."_

Sigrid had to admit she was not really sure of herself anymore. They had entered one of the annex towers, as several bridges were linking them to the main one. And even if some of them looked broken, Sigrid knew that there was some kind of mechanism to activate them.

They climbed up the tower without meeting anyone. Actually, they had not met much resistance in their progression, and Sigrid suspected that the Daedras were far too busy for the moment dealing with Vicente and Gogron to worry about Teinaava and her.

When they arrived at the top of the tower, they finally found a living soul. Or at least, a soul who lived...From where she was standing, Sigrid was unable to say whether the prisoner trapped in the cage hung over the pit was alive or dead. But given by the state of his body, she really wished he had passed away...

"Right, one of those levers must activate the bridge we saw when we were downstairs." she said.

"Maybe this one?" asked Teinaava.

And without waiting for an answer, he activated the lever. There was a creaking sound, and, behind them, the bottom of the cage opened. To her greatest horror, Sigrid saw the prisoner's body slowly fell down the pit before it got impaled with a discussing wet sound on the pikes downstairs. Sigrid looked up from the tower's bottom to the Argonian.

"Teinaava..." she growled.

"Oups, sorry..." replied the Argonian, grinning and not looking sorry at all.

Sigrid sighted and pulled the second level. In the distance, they heard a rumbling noise.

"The bridge is activated. Let's go!"

They crossed the door and a cold wind swept across their face. Trying not to get destabilised by the gusts of wind, they started crossing the bridge.

But as they were about to reach the other side, the ground began to move under their feet.

"The bridge!" screamed Sigrid. "The mechanism has been deactivated!"

"What the...?"

Teinaava's question remained stuck in this throat. He gasped in horror as he saw the ground opening under his feet. And he toppled over the edge…

But Sigrid jumped forward and grabbed the Argonian by one of his wrist just in time.

"Teinaava! Are you OK?" she asked.

The Argonian looked down and gulped.

"Er, yeah, I think so..." he replied. His legs were trashing the air, desperately searching for a foothold. "Can you haul me?"

Sigrid tensed her muscle and tried to get back on her knees, but failed.

"No, I am sorry." she said, taking her breath back. "You are too heavy, and..."

She did not finish her sentence. Dragged by Teinaava's weight, she was slowly sliding on the stomach toward the drop. Panicked, she planted her toes in the ground. It seemed to slow her progression but she could still feel herself moving forward slightly.

"Are you hanging on to something?" asked Teinaava.

"No."

There was a pause.

"_My dear Teinaava, it is time to take your responsibilities..."_ thought the Argonian.

He suppressed a nervous chuckle. Shame Lucien was not there. He would probably be very proud to see his "little immature lizard" – as he said – to show some sense of responsibilities...

"Let go of me." said Teinaava aloud.

Sigrid's mouth opened wide in shock.

"_What?_ No! No, wait! There must be a way to..."

"Don't be silly." Teinaava interrupted her. "There are no other solutions. Do you want to fall with me?"

"You can't ask me to do that!"

Teinaava was expecting that kind of answer. He sighted and took his dagger out of his belt with his free hand.

"_Funny. I had never thought I would die as a hero..."_

He wondered if, in the case Sigrid's mission was successful, he would get a statute. Yes, a huge statute of him in a heroic pose, with a plaque saying something like "To the courageous Teinaava who died trying to save the city"... Fine, it sounded completely cheesy, but at least maybe it would cheer up his dear Ocheeva a bit? Teinaava wished he had the time to tell his twin he loved her.

Actually, he was now realising how much he was going to miss everyone: Lucien and his telling-off, Antoinetta and her crazy cuisine recipes, Vicente and his endless discussions on every subject possible, Talendril's nymphomaniac habits, M'raaj-Dar's awkward so-and-so, Sigrid's sudden changes of mood and of course, Gogron's unforgettable hugs...

"Now, let go of me." ordered Teinaava again. If his life had to end up, it'd better be right now, because he was feeling his resolution faltering quickly.

"No!"

Teinaava raised the hand which was holding the dagger and put the tip of the blade on Sigrid's wrist.

"You are as stubborn as a mule! If you don't let go off me, I swear I will stick my blade in your arm!"

And suddenly, there was a strong and putrid smell of decomposition. A smell so strong that it completely obliterated the powerful one of sulphur which usually dominated Merhunes Dagon's realms.

"_Ah! We finally meet my dear."_ said a voice. _"Of course, our paths have crossed many times before, but I never got the opportunity to... chat with you."_

Teinaava frowned as he saw the landscape around him change slightly and looked as if all the colours were completely blurred. He did not know much about Oblivion, but he was sure what was happening know was certainly not normal...

The Argonian then looked back at Sigrid and realised that she was fixing something behind her.

A dark and skinny silhouette wearing a large hat had materialised just there. It was holding a scythe in one of his hand. A very big and blunt scythe...

"You... You can talk?!" the girl gasped.

The Ankou had an indulgent smile.

"Of course I can. But I think you have

"_He is in my head... Oh, by Sithis, he is in my head!"_ Sigrid thought, completely panicked.

The inhuman voice of the Ankou was indeed echoing in her head. Actually, it was as if he was directly talking to her brain, without getting trough her ears. And most worrying of all, the Ankou's voice was sounding really familiar to Sigrid, even if it was the first time he was talking to her.

Her eyes widened in shock as she realised she why...

"What do you want?"

Sigrid's voice was sounding like a cawing. She was trying to fight against the strong feeling she had to pass out.

"_You have something that belongs to me... Something that I really want back..." _

At those words, the girl felt something burning against her chest. She looked down at the small hourglass she had hanged up on a chain around her neck. It was glowing red again, like when she had touched it for the first time. The Ankou hold out his skeletal hand toward Sigrid and a black veil started to darken her vision. Her eyelids flickered and she tried to focus on Teinaava.

"_Don't let go off him, don't let go of him..."_

"Leave her alone!" spat Teinaava.

The Ankou stopped his move and gave the Argonian one of his completely humourless smile while he was bending over him.

"_My dear Teinaava, you are in a rather... hazardous position. And guess what? I hate having to come out for nothing... " _

Teinaava's blood turned to ice.

"_You see, many think that its Death who is killing people."_ continued the Ankou while nonchalantly removing some invisible particles from the blade of his scythe. _"Which is completely silly. People got killed. I only came afterwards to collect what belongs to me, or rather, to Sithis..."_

His smile widened.

"_But even if I can't kill you directly, I still can nudge fatality in the right direction..."_

And saying this, the Ankou put his hands on Sigrid's shoulder. Her eyes almost immediately rolled upward and Teinaava felt the girl's grip on his wrist loosening... In a desperate move, his instinct for survival pushed him to grab hers.

"_Tss, tss..."_ said the Ankou, shaking his head disapprovingly. _"Would you take the risk to drag her down in your fall? It won't save your life, you know..."_

"Get stuffed!" spat Teinaava, incensed.

"Teinaava!" a worried voice yelled behind him.

The Argonian turned his head toward the sound of the voice and his hear leapt in his chest.

It was Vicente. But the Argonian's happiness to see his friend turned into horror as he realised the bridge had been activated again, and was slowly moving forward, ready to crush him...

The Ankou cackled, leaning on his scythe with an awful snarl on his fleshless face.

"_Ah, but all this is becoming rather interesting! I wonder how you are..."_

The Ankou brusquely ducked to avoid a big and sharp object that had just been thrown at him. A huge axe stuck in the wall, vibrating, just behind the liche.

"_Who dared...?!"_ he snarled.

"Me!" Gogron growled as he materialised behind Vicente. "Get away from my friends, you awful scarecrow!"

"_Ah, here comes the cavalry, I see._" said the Ankou, sarcastically. "_I'd better go. It is getting rather busy here." _

He turned back toward Sigrid, who now looked so pale that death may have been an improvement.

"_But don't worry. We will meet again. Very soon..."_

And he disappeared as suddenly as he had materialised.

But Teinaava did not spend too much time wondering about where the Ankou had gone. The bridge was still moving toward him and it seemed that Sigrid was about to let go off him...

"_Dying by falling from the tower or being crashed by the bridge? Decisions, decisions..." _

Fortunately, Teinaava never had to choose. Vicente had made a start worthy of any sprint champion. He easily jumped over the small space separating the two parts of the bridge and landed near Sigrid. Grabbing the Argonian by the collar of his leather suit, he hauled him just before the bridge interlocked.

"Well, er... thanks..." mumbled Teinaava, his heart beating wildly.

Vicente smiled at him and then turned toward Sigrid, who was lying motionless on the floor.

"Are you all right?" asked Gogron when he rejoined them. "And what was thingamajig with the scythe? Man, it was so skinny it looked like it had not eaten in ages!"

"Which is probably the case..." murmured Vicente as he helped Sigrid getting back on her feet.

"Will... explain you... later..." the girl replied, painting. She was feeling a bit light-headed. "How... did you manage to cross the first broken bridge?"

Vicente and Gogron had a really evil smile.

"Well, we have discovered that Daedra's dead bodies had amazing floating properties on lava..."

Awful mental pictures crossed Sigrid's mind.

"Well, er… We'd better go. We are not far away from the top of the tower now."

"_And I hope there won't be more bridges…"_ she thought, wincing.

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_3..._

"Burd! Try to get your men out of there!" yelled Martin.

Captain Burd nodded in agreement, knowing perfectly it was hopeless. Their army was surrounded by hundreds of Daedras and there was no way to escape. They were trapped, and all they could do was fighting, or dying...

"_Well, rather fighting _and_ dying..."_ he corrected himself mentally. Indeed, they would need a miracle to...

And unexpectedly, the miracle happened. The Captain saw a breach opening in the Daedric lines and human soldiers wearing Bruma's livery rushing into it.

Burd pinched himself to make sure he was not dreaming.

"_Countess?"_ he asked, bemused when he recognised the figure who was leading the reinforcements.

"A problem, Captain?" asked Nirana Carvain defiantly as she stopped by his side.

"Er, no..."

"Good!"

Then she spurred on her mount and charged a group of Dremoras.

"Ten like her, and the Empire is saved." said Martin, who was standing behind the Captain.

"Ah! There are not even five like her!" shrugged Burd. "And this is not such a bad thing. One to cope with is enough, believe me!" he added with a smile.

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_1..._

"It's too late!" someone yelled among the people gathered on the parapets. A concert of shouts echoed him and people pointed at the huge siege engine which was starting to get out of the Gate.

Some women and children started crying and screams of despair began to rise from the crowd.

But indifferent to his companions, kneeling on the ground and his eyes closed in fervour, the old man was praying.

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_1..._

"It's too late!"

Martin turned toward the sound of the scream. A soldier was pointing at the Great Gate where the siege engine was slowly crossing.

Flashes of what happened in Kvatch crossed his mind and he tried not to get overcome by panic. If Sigrid did not close the Gate now, they were done for...

"_But what are they waiting for?"_ thought Martin.

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_1..._

"It's too late!" roared Gogron. "The siege engine is getting trough the Great Gate!"

"No, it's _not_!" Vicente yelled back. "It has not crossed the Gate completely yet!"

A Clannfear jumped at his throat but the vampire drove it back violently.

"Sigrid! Get the Stone! We will try to hold them back!"

Sigrid did not need to be told twice. She screamed in rage as she tried to cut herself a past through the forest of teeth and claws.

The Daedras had finally guessed the reason of their presence in Oblivion and had taken measures as a consequence... When the Dark Brothers had entered the Sigillium Sanguis, they had found themselves face to face with a score of rather annoyed Daedras, ready to fight.

The girl climbed up and risked an eye downstairs. Vicente was getting overcome by Scamps and Clannfears. Teinaava had been cornered by three Churl Dremoras and she could not see Gogron anywhere...

Something suddenly grabbed her by the neck and started to strangle her.

"Let me go!" she screamed, punching violently her aggressor in the face. The Dremora's nose broke in a crack and he clutched his face in pain, freeing Sigrid.

She ran toward the Sigil Stone. Behind her, the Dremora yelled in rage and hexed her. She received the curse right between her shoulder blades, but despite the pain, she managed to jump forward and snatched the Sigil Stone from its socle.

And everything set ablaze.

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Blinded by the light, Sigrid landed head first in something very cold and humid. It took her brain some time to work out what it was.

"_Snow..."_

Which meant they were back on Nirn again. She removed the snow from her face, blinked and looked around her. The snow field was covered in blood and corpses. A few feet away from her, what remained of the siege engine was consuming itself.

Sigrid felt something moving under her and instinctively reached for her sword hilt...

"Move out, you daughter of a hippopotamus!" said a muffled voice. "I can't breath!"

"Vicente?"

The vampire gently pushed Sigrid aside and extracted himself from the snow. He immediately put back on his face his hood and mask. Or at least, what was left of them. His clothes had been partly torn apart, and he had many cuts and scratches all over the body. But apart from that, he seemed all right.

"What is a hippopotamus?"

"It is a big and heavy wild beast which lives in the far south of Elseweyr." replied the vampire while dusting his rags. "Never heard of them?"

Sigrid frowned. Talking about big wild beats...

"Where are Gogron and Teinaava?" she asked, sounding worried.

"There!" said a booming voice.

Teinaava and Gogron were coming toward them, tottering. The Argonian had a nasty very nasty cut on the leg and was bleeding abundantly. As for Gogron, he looked like a hedgehog with all the Daedric arrows stuck his armour. When they arrived near Sigrid, Teinaava collapsed in the snow.

"You two need to see a healer!" exclaimed Sigrid as she kneeled by the Argonian.

"Nah, what for?" said Gogron with bravado. But he was clearly in pain.

"She is right, guys. You should listen to her."

Baurus was walking toward them, smiling.

"Nice to see you are all in one piece." the Redguard continued. "Huh, well, almost..." he corrected himself, looking at Gogron and Teinaava.

"Baurus!" exclaimed Sigrid. "Where is...?"

Sigrid stopped and sighted in relief. Martin had just appeared behind Baurus. Curbing an urge to throw her arms around his neck, she walked toward him and held the Sigil Stone out to him.

"There. We got it."

Without a word, Martin removed the Stone from Sigrid's hands and barely took a look at it before he dropped it on the ground.

"Hey, be careful!" exclaimed Sigrid reproachfully. "You'd never know through what we got to... Chlmpff!"

She never managed to finish her sentence, because Martin gagged her with a kiss. And not exactly a very chaste one. Baurus chuckled, some of the soldiers around them cheered and Sigrid was sure that her bunch of assassin friends was smiling wildly.

Funny, she had always thought a first kiss had to be romantic. And for her, romanticism implied nice tweeting little birds, a lot of flowers – preferably pink ones and a sunset maybe… But certainly_ not_ a battlefield and a lover covered in blood, reeking of Scamps and whose armour was crushing her chest.

Fine. If it was not a romantic kiss, at least it was an epic one...

"_Hey, that is definitively good song material..." _she thought as she returned Martin his kiss with passion.

Yeah, why not composing a song on Bruma's battle? It would start in C minor and...

"_Nice to see you are very focused on what you are doing..." _said the Voice sarcastically.

"_You...! You..." _Sigrid hissed mentally_. "We will need to have a small conversation..."_

The girl had not forgotten the intervention of the Ankou and a felling of dread rose in her chest at the thought.

"_I know."_ sighted the Voice. _"This had to happen one day..."_

Sigrid did not ask the Voice what it meant by that. She had decided to follow its advice and to concentrate a bit more on what she was doing…

- 17 -


	14. Revelations

**Hey there!**

**Sorry for the slow updates. But with a full-time "around the clock'" job, it is a bit hard to find some time to sit down and write.**

**This chapter is far from being my favourite one, but it is necessary. **

**It will deliver a few explanations on what is going on with the Ankou. Some questions find their answers, but not all of them, and things that you may find incoherent or obscure will find be explain later in the following chapters…:)**

**Talking about that, we are moving toward the end of this fic. I am planning to write 18 chapters, maybe 20, but that will be the maximum.**

**Oh, one more thing. I used the expression "Breton kiss" in my fic because French kiss was completely meaningless in the context of the history. And as Bretons have names that really sounds like French ones…:D **

**Chapter 14**

Lucien grunted inwardly as he was chewing over dark thoughts. Clearly, this was certainly not J'Ghasta's cleverest plan.

"_And as usual, I am the one who is taking all the risks…"_

The Khajit had that natural knack to make Lucien doing what he wanted. J'Ghasta was perfectly aware of this and did not hesitate to abuse from his influence over Lucien.

The latter sighted. Well, all this was partly_ his_ own fault. Why on Nirn had he told J'Ghasta about Mahaut Montfort's proposal to employ him as her personal servant? Because from this little piece of information, the Khajit had worked out one of his classic "cunning" plan…

"Here is what we are going to do." the Khajit had said, his eyes gleaming with malice. "You tell Montfort a very nice tale about why you decided to accept her offer, like how annoying Trencavel could be…"

"I am afraid it is not a tale…" had murmured Lucien, smiling.

"… or how under paid you were." continued J'Ghasta, ignoring Lucien's remark. "Once in, you just find a way to work out what she and her psychotic brother are up to. After that, we arrange a meeting and decide what to do. Simple, isn't it?"

"No, not really." had replied Lucien, making a face. "You seem to forget that Trencavel and I are wanted by the Mage Guild for being necromancers. How am I going to explain that to Mahaut Montfort?"

The Khajit had rolled his eyes.

"Well, my friend, use your _amazing_ seducing skills! You chat the lady up and you make her cough up what she knows. Be creative… and don't hesitate to sleep with her if necessary!"

"Hey!" Lucien had protested. "I am an assassin, not a gigolo!"

"Ah, come on, that Mahaut Montfort doesn't look bad at all...!." J'Ghasta had said, smiling widely. "Well, for an ape, I mean."

Lucien groaned again. To tell the truth, J'Ghasta's "simple" plan had been working fairly well for the moment. Mahaut had been a bit suspicious at the beginning, asking him a lot of questions on Trencavel and her hourglass, but she had soon made her mind and had accepted to take Lucien at her service – probably hoping to get more information on her cousin later.

Actually, Lucien would have not minded playing Mahaut's lackey if it had not implied awfully long and torturing sessions of… shopping.

Lucien was definitely not a misogynist – after all, some of the Brotherhood best assassins were women – and he had always thought that the... "shopping" thing was just a stereotype spread by full-of-testosterone males who had just discovered that their wife had spent all the family savings on a new pair of shoes.

Well, he was wrong… He could not believe he had spent the last two days following Mahaut Montfort around the Imperial City districts, his arms loaded with bags and packets.

In fact, Lucien was wondering what she liked better: shopping around the city or exhibiting him as her new "pet". Indeed, Mahaut seemed to take great pleasure in walking around with him, giving him orders and making sure that he knew who the boss was. Lucien remembered when Mahaut had introduced him to the rest of her staff how one servant had sniggered in his back, saying:

"Looks like her Ladyship has found a new toy…"

Now, Lucien was starting to realise what he meant by that…

"_Oh dear, it seems that Mahaut is the domineering type... And she fancies me."_ he thought, wincing as pictures of chains and leather materialised in his mind._ "Just my luck!"_

Ignoring Lucien's mental turmoil, Mahaut, who was walking in front of him, abruptly stopped.

"Oooh, look!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands in pleasure and excitement. "A new shop has opened!"

Lucien rolled his eyes and put great effort into curbing his urge to run away.

"Oh, I am so exited..." he said in a neutral voice.

Mahaut frowned and turned toward her servant.

"Well, you really don't sound like you are." she replied dryly. "What is the problem?"

"I am tired and hungry, your Ladyship." Lucien replied blankly. "We have been pacing up and down the city for hours."

"_And my back is aching…"_ he added to himself mentally as he felt some of his vertebras squeaking.

Mahaut turned back toward the shop, made a disappointed pout and then tuned toward Lucien again.

"Oh, I love when you say 'your Ladyship'", she chuckled. "Fine, my dear little mule. Let's make a break." she added, patting him gently on the cheek. "And I know the perfect place for that!"

She turned around in a whirling of robes and left without waiting for an answer.

"_Looks like the dear little mule has earned his carrot…"_ thought Lucien sulkily as he followed Mahaut close on her heels.

The streets were packed with people, and loaded as he was, Lucien had trouble to force his way through the crowd. In addition, he kept being insulted by passer-by he nearly poked in the eye with his packets and bags. Apparently, Mahaut had not that kind of problem. She was moving through the crowd with a disconcerting talent. Fascinated, Lucien looked closer at her very special way of walking.

"_By Sithis, how does she manage to do that?"_

She had one of the most rolling walk he had _ever_ seen in his entire life. It was like her hips were mounted on balls bearing.

"_To port, to starboard, to port, to starboard, to…"_ he thought, his eyes following her hips' move as if it was a pendulum. After a moment of observation, Lucien felt his head spinning and he decided to stop looking at her…ahem, "back" before he got seasick.

After more hips swaying and insults, they finally reached a small greasy spoon in Talos' district. Lucien raised an eyebrow when he saw the shop. He would have never imagined that a girl with such a high social standard as Mahaut Montfort would ever dare to get a snack there.

"I know." she said, with a smile of excuse on her face as she caught Lucien's reluctant expression. "It does not look really appealing, but the food is very good, you will see."

She pushed the door and they entered the building.

Mahaut was indeed a regular visitor because the owner of the shop literally jumped out of his kitchen as soon as he saw her. After having bowed something like ten times toward Mahaut and calling her "your Highness", he headed them toward what he called his "best spot". They did not even get the time to sit down that three waiters were bringing an assortment of food, and soon, the table was covered in different dishes, from Morrowind's famous Guar ragout to Hammerfell's snails, without forgetting the national Cyrodiilic dish – rat meat with chilli sauce1. Lucien's stomach roared in approval and he did his best not to rush on the food.

Mahaut and he ate silently, and Lucien's attention soon got captured by a conversation.

Drinking at a table nearby, a bunch Legionnaires were talking about the battle of Bruma. Which was not surprising, actually. Martin Septim's victory over Merhunes Dagon's troop was, along with the New Year's Eve festivities - and the recurrent talking on mudcrabes - the favourite subject of conversation.

"Ah! I wish we were at that battle…" said one of the soldiers.

"Yeah, shame Lord Ocato did not sent us to Bruma." added a second Legionnaire, putting his beer mug back on the table and whipping his mouth with his hand. "That would have been the occasion to see the so-called 'Hero of Kvatch' and the heir of the Imperial throne in action."

"Well, apparently, they are not only good at fighting…" chuckled a third guard. "Everybody is gossiping about the big Breton kiss Martin Septim gave Trencavel on the battlefield…"

The first Legionnaire had a saucy smile.

"If Martin Septim is like his father, that's promising…They say old Uriel could not keep it down his pants!"

They burst out laughing and Mahaut, who was also listening to the conversation too, snarled.

"Ah, it seems that my dear cousin has finally found… Are you all right Lucien?" she added quickly as the Imperial had turned purple and was coughing madly.

"Arrrgh…! Yes…" he gargled, gesturing frantically at his throat. "A peanut… went down…the wrong way."

Mahaut looked down at the dishes that have been placed on the table in front of them. She could not find peanuts anywhere.

Not taken in it, she nevertheless decided to change of subject when she realised Lucien was now looking rather gloomy.

"Anyway, have you seen the robe that girl over there is wearing? This is soooo last era. And as I was telling Marina last time I saw her…"

And she launched herself into one of her boring-to-death tirade on the latest fashion trends in Cyrodiil. Lucien quickly turned himself into automatic mode – which consists mainly in looking interested while punctuating Mahaut's monologue with remarks such as "true", "right" and "hmmm" – and, with the sound of Mahaut's voice as a background, he tried to analyse why he was feeling so annoyed.

Because he was annoyed, for sure. But the biggest issue was to work out why.

Right, he was finding Trencavel rather attractive with her "wild cat" manners. Fine, he did not like picturing her being kissed by another man – and in front of a whole army. But did that mean he was jealous? Of course not, because being jealous implied somehow to be in lo…

"Lucien, are you listening to me?"

Lucien blinked and turned his attention back on Mahaut. She was looking at him, an annoyed expression on her beautiful face and Lucien had a kind of shock when he realised how much she looked like Sigrid.

"_Same green eyes, same black hair, same expression…"_ he thought._ "I wonder what else they have in common…"_

"I am sorry, your Ladyship" he said aloud. "I was thinking of… something else."

"Of peanuts, maybe?" Mahaut asked sarcastically.

Lucien was about to tell her politely to mind her own business, but fortunately, he never got the occasion to. Somebody was running toward them, and Lucien recognized one of Mahaut's servants.  
The latter ignored Lucien as he came near them and bowed to his mistress, handing her a small piece of rolled paper.

"Master Mahaut. I have a message from Master Foulques."

Mahaut took it and her eyes started to scan the piece of paper carefully. Lucien discreetly tried to read through the paper, but the light was not good and he remained unsuccessful. After she finished reading, Mahaut smiled in satisfaction. She then snapped her fingers and the message burnt down to ashes.

"Fine. My brother is going to come back tonight." she said, getting up. "We'd better finishing all this shopping before he comes back."

Trying to ignore his vertebras' screams of protestation, Lucien stood up and followed his employer.

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The Cloud Ruler Temple was buzzing in effervescence and healers were activating between the rows of beds which had been set up hastily. The wounded fighters had been brought here as well as Bruma's castle, and Sigrid had spent the last couples of days running between the two places to help the healers with her alchemistic abilities, while Martin and Vicente were making some last minutes preparation for the ritual.

Now, Sigrid had isolated herself in Martin's bedroom and she was washing her hands from the blood they were all covered in.

All the euphoria she had felt the battle had evaporated. The vision of all those injured and sometimes agonizing men had had the effect of a cold shower on her. Even her kiss with Martin had a bitter taste now…

Right after they had come back to the Cloud Ruler Temple, she had surprised Jauffre and Martin having what looked like a virulent argument, and when she had asked them what was going on, they had acted as if everything was perfectly normal. But the look Jauffre had shot her just before he left had given her a good hint on what the subject of their conversation was…

And what was Lachance going to think? Sigrid let out a derisive laugh at the incongruity of the thought. Why did she care? Because he tried to kiss her once? So what? He was probably doing that with all the female members of the sanctuary, if not the Dark Brotherhood. And they were not married, for Sithis' sake!

Sigrid took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

The only good thing was that Gogron and Teinaava had been pulled through. They were recovering well from their wounds, and the last time Sigrid had seen them, they were arguing about who was going to eat the last piece of the cake she had brought them.

She looked at the water in the basin which had turned into a nice ruby colour. Before getting ready to pay Mankar Camoran a visit, there was one thing she needed to do…

Sigrid dried her hands and looked around the room, making sure she was alone.

"_We are on our own. Now get out, we need to talk."_

The Voice sighted and Sigrid felt it slowly extracting itself from of her mind.

"_Are you sure you want to do it now?" _started the Voice._ "You are exhausted and…"_

"_Why I could hear the Ankou talking in my head"? _Sigrid interrupted her. "_And why did his voice sound exactly like yours?"_

The Voice shifted uneasily in Sigrid's head, clearly looking embarrassed.

"_It is a rather long story, and I don't know where to start…"_

"_Starting at the beginning would be nice."_ the girl said sarcastically.

"_Well, you have often wondered why you could hear and talk to a voice in your head, haven't you?" _

"_You know the answer perfectly well!"_ spat Sigrid. _"Every time I have asked you what you were doing here, you dodged the question!"_

"_Hmmm, have you ever heard of hermit crabs?"_ asked the Voice point blankly.

Sigrid blinked in surprise.

"_The little animals which colonize empty shells? Yes, of course."_

"_Well, I am a bit like a hermit crab, you see."_ said the voice carefully. _"I lost my previous shell, so I had to find a new one…"_

The information took a few seconds to sink in.

As far as Sigrid could remember, the Voice had always been there, talking in her head. Over the years, her presence had become something reassuring – even if often annoying – and the girl was now so accustomed to it she considered it as a part of herself. To think of the Voice - which had shared her most intimate thoughts - as a… a foreign body was extremely unpleasant.

"_Are you trying to tell me that you are living as a parasite on my body?! Because as far as I know, hermit crabs only move to empty shells!"_

The Voice scowled.

"_I don't like the term 'parasite' much, but I think you have understood the general idea, yes…"_

There was an awkward pause.

"What are you exactly?" Sigrid finally said in a breath.

This time, she had spoken aloud.

"_I am… Well, I _wa_s Clairvaux' vital energy. His soul, if you prefer…"_

Sigrid moaned and collapsed on her knees, burying her face in her hands.

"Oh, Sithis…" she said in a sight. "And Clairvaux… He is the Ankou, isn't he?"

"You have hinted that from the diary, haven't you…? Yes, Clairvaux is the Ankou…"

Sigrid had an unhappy laugh. Oh yes, she had hinted that from the diary, from the hourglass, from the fact that all her clues on the Ankou were converging toward Clairvaux…

"What does Clairvaux – or rather the Ankou - want?" Sigrid asked again. "Why is he following me around?"

"_As he said when we were in Oblivion, you have something that he wants back…"_

At the Voice's words, Sigrid's hand automatically reached for the little hourglass she was wearing as a pendant around her neck. She took it in her hand and brought it just before her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me all that before? Why did not you let me know about him when I started to see him" she asked. "Do you know how much I have suffered from this?"

Breathing slowly and loudly, she remembered how terrified she had been when she had heard the sound of the creaking axle from the Ankou's cart for the first time. She was a child, and her grand-mother Rivanone was dying in the adjoining room…

The years had passed, and she was not a child anymore. But the terror was still there, vivid as ever every time the Ankou was making an apparition.

"_Of course I know."_ replied the voice softly. _"I was there…"_

Sigrid grunted as she was still looking at the little object in the palm of her hand.

"Well, if he wants this stupid hourglass, he can have it!" she said between gritted teeth.

It was not as if the damn thing was useful anyway… Sure, it looked magical, but all it could was glowing stupidly. It could not make you becoming invisible, being able to breath under water or even throw mere fireballs!

"_The thing is, it is not the hourglass the Ankou is interested in_." started the Voice, sounding more embarrassed than ever_. "But, er… me."_

"What do you mean? When we were in Oblivion, he said he wanted the hourglass back! And it started to glow when he tried to catch it…"

"_Yes, but the hourglass is just…what links me to him." _the Voice interrupted Sigrid_. "Clairvaux is not after it, but after me. And, as a result, after you…" _

In a sense, this probably was not such a huge surprise to Sigrid. Indeed, when you had spent all your life talking to a voice in your head and seeing things, all you can expect was to get those kinds of revelations at some point…

But all the frustration and fear Sigrid had experienced over the past few weeks had shaken her quite a lot. And learning that she was tailed by a liche who wanted his soul back was not helping her much to remain calm.

As her nerves were slowly meting down in a mix of terror and rage, all the sensible questions she had wanted to ask the Voice – how it got there, why it chose to hide in her head…– became secondary to the only thing she really, _really_ wanted at the moment…

"I want you to get of my head…"

Her nails scraped the cobblestones nervously.

"_I can't! It is not working like this, you know…" _

"I don't know and I don't care." Sigrid hissed. "Get out of my head…"

"_I perfectly understand you are angry, but…"_

"Get out of my head right now!" Sigrid screamed. "Find another shell! And if you don't want to, I will force you!"

Sigrid had taken her dagger off its sheath and had placed the tip against her throat.

"Now let's see what happens if I die…"

A mad and evil grin appeared on the girl's face.

"_Please Sigrid, listen…!"_ started the Voice, who was sounding rather panicked now.

"You manage to get _in_, now find a way to get _out_! Or else…!"

"_You'd never dare to do it!"_

The blade moved forward, and a bit of blood formed at its tip.

"You bet?" Sigrid sniggered.

Fortunately, the bet was never taken up, because this is precisely the moment Vicente Valtieri chose to enter the room.

"Sigrid?" asked Vicente while opening the door. "Are you all right? I heard some screams, so I…"

The vampire's jaw dropped at the sight of Sigrid holding the knife pointed at her throat. In less than a heartbeat, he snatched the blade from her hands and put as much space as he could between him and her.

But contrary to what he was expecting, the girl did not oppose any resistance. Rather, she stayed there, looking at him with swinging arms and a completely stupefied look on her face.

"Are you going to tell me what you are playing at?" spat the vampire, holding the dagger's blade between two fingers as if it was something repugnant. "I almost had a heart attack!"

To his greatest amazement, the vampire saw Sigrid's inferior lip starting to shake and her eyes becoming watery. She then threw herself in his arms and started sobbing loudly on his shoulder.

"Er, it is OK, er…" started Valtieri, rolling his eyes and patting her awkwardly on the back. Well, he was not sure if it was OK or not. But after all, he was not really used to comforting ladies in great distress, as being a vampire often made him being a source of distress…

"The Ankou!" said Sigrid, moaning. "It is in my head! It is in my head…"

And between two uncontrollable sobs, she explained Valtieri everything – the Voice in her head, her visions, how the Ankou was tailing her…

"Right, right." Vicente finally said as he was felling his shirt getting soaking wet. "All this is a bit… unexpected, you know."

"You don't believe me, do you?" asked Sigrid, sniffing. "You think I am completely mad…"

The vampire gently pushed her away and took his hood and mask off, revealing a wide smile adorned with two little fangs.

"Well, if I had not seen the Ankou himself when we were in Oblivion, I would have thought so, yes." His expression became serious again. "Do you know how it happened? I mean, how and why the… 'Voice' got into your head? And why does Clairvaux want it back?"

"No." said Sigrid. "All the Voice said was the Ankou wanted his soul back, but I did no give me more explanations…"

"_Hey, I was about to explain you all that before you went off the rails!"_ said the Voice reproachfully. _"Actually, there may be a way to show both of you..". _

"_Why do you want to show it to Vicente?"_ asked Sigrid suspiciously.

"_Because we need help, and Valtieri will definitely be able to provide us with that. All you guys need to do is…"_

Sigrid frowned as the Voice explained the procedure for it.

"Can you really do that….? Oh, fine, I am not saying you are a liar…" Sigrid said in exasperation. "Vicente, the Voice says it is possible for both of us to see what happened to Clairvaux. All you have to do is to put your forehead against mine."

"Is that all?" asked the vampire, looking rather unimpressed.

Sigrid rolled her eyes.

"Do you _ever_ look surprised?"

"Well, I have always enjoyed new experiments." the vampire said, smiling and shrugging. And he took her face in his hands and put his forehead against hers.

There was a flash of light and…

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…Aymard Clairvaux was looking at the ceiling. His laboratory was a very cold and humid place, where the smell of saltpetre was mixing with the one of the rotten flesh of the corpses he had been experiencing with.

The necromancer sighted. He had been lying on the stone table for days now, but fortunately, his transformation was almost over. He could feel it. His vital energy was getting slowly drained by the hourglass, and soon, he would have achieved the goal of his life…

Clairvaux reported his attention back on what was happening around him. He could hear his minions bustling around to their dark tasks.

Well, actually, "hear" was probably not the best expression to use. Since his transformation had begun, his senses had become useless. Indeed, instead of using his eyes or ears, he was "feeling" his environment. It was like there were no intermediaries between his brain and his direct surroundings.

He wondered if, once he would have achieved his transformation to lichdom, he would be omniscient. His mentor and friend Mannimarco, who was also working on turning himself into a lich, had always stayed very evasive on the subject.

Clairvaux suddenly frowned has he perceived a slight change in his environment. It was like his minions were… disappearing, one after the other.

The necromancer's lips curled up. Ah yes, he had been expected such kind of visit.

"You are too late, child of Sithis." Clairvaux said, remaining immobile on the table. "My transformation is almost complete now."

The dark figure that had been hiding in a corner of the room came forward and took his hood off, revealing the face of a young Dunmer boy.

"Actually, the 'almost' is the reason of my presence here…" the Dunmer replied quietly. "I guess you are not going to surrender your hourglass to me without fighting, Aymard Clairvaux, traitor to the Brotherhood, you who dared to steal the souls what belonged rightfully to the Dread Father?"

The necromancer did not bother to answer. With amazing agility, he jumped from the table on which he was resting and, literally flying into the air, landed feet first on the assassin's chest. The latter flew three meters backward before his back hit the opposite wall. Half knocked out, the Dunmer reached for his dagger and came back on his feet.

"Is Sithis to send me small fry such as you?" the necromancer said in a sweet voice.

He was slowly walking toward the young assassin, bare-footed and a nasty smile on his face. His dark mages robes were whirling around him, a red glowing aura emanating from him and holding the hourglass in one hand.

Fascinated, the Dunmer could not remove his eyes from the object in Clairvaux' palm. The necromancer noticed it and his smile grew wider.

"You want it?" he said, shaking the hourglass under the assassin's nose. "Well, take it then!"

The Dunmer roared in rage and launched a series of furious attacks on Clairvaux, who avoided them all very easily.

As the two were fighting, they did not notice that one of Clairvaux' minions was actually not dead. They were not very intelligent creatures, being the result of Clairvaux' mad experiments that did not turn as well as he wanted them to. But being simple did not mean not being dangerous… And they were programmed to defend their master, whatever the price would be. And after all, the price to pay could not be very high, given the fact they were dead…

The creature raised a hand and shot a curse at the assassin. But it missed its target, and instead of hitting the assassin's back, the hex hit the hourglass with a _gong! _noise, making it bounce several feet away from the two fighters. It rolled on the floor and immobilised itself. Clairvaux rushed toward it, but he saw the hourglass losing its red glow, slowly turning back to normal again and realised it was too late. His eyes widened in fear and anger.

"No, you can't…! NO !"

There was another flash of light and…

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… Vicente found himself in a very dark place.

Well, not completely dark, actually. There were little blue dots floating around him, and each little spherical light was linked to one another by an equally glowing blue string. The whole was looking like a gigantic shining net.

But among the blue lines, the vampire noticed a few red ones, who suddenly gathered and moved toward him…

Vicente instinctively put himself into guard, to realise that he had no actual body to put into guard. Rather, he was only consisting into interconnection of… green lights.

"_Hello, Vicente. I am the Voice."_ said the bunch of red lights cheerfully. _ "Nice to meet you!"_

The vampire relaxed a little and looked around him once more.

"_Where are we?"_ asked Vicente. _"And where is Sigrid?"_

"_I am here, Vicente."_

He could not see the girl, but he could feel her presence around him.

"_We are in Sigrid's soul…"_ explained the Voice. _"Rather messy isn't it?"_

"_Hey, keep your comments for yourself, you… leech!"_ spat Sigrid. _"If you are not happy here, you know what you can do…"_

"_Fine, so, Clairvaux did not manage to turn himself in to a liche."_ Vicente asked quickly in order to avoid another row between the Voice and Sigrid._ "But loosing the hourglass should have destroyed him. So why on Nirn is he still around?"_

The Voice shrugged, which was quite an achievement for an entity deprive from a physical body of its own.

"_The transformation was almost over when the assassin took the hourglass. By doing so, it should have meant his destruction and mine indeed. But the curse launched on the hourglass perturbed the normal sequence of events. Instead of vanishing into the Void, I found myself completely free - free from Clairvaux' body, free from the Void and from the cycle of reincarnation. I am a rather unique case, if I may say…"_ said the Voice proudly.

"_Yes, but still. Clairvaux was deprived of his vital energy without having completed his transformation…"_ started Sigrid. _"So he should have died, disappeared… Whatever!"_

"_Yes, and this is where things start to get… interesting."_ replied the Voice, chuckling_. "Sithis was a bit… pissed off by the way things turned out… True, Clairvaux had been stopped in time, but he had not been punished the way he should have, and his soul – your humble servant – remained beyond his reach. That is why the Dread Father decided to curse Clairvaux, making him collecting the soul of those who were killed by the Dark Brotherhood."_

"_Well, at least, that is fitting the legend" _said Vicente thoughtfully. _"The Ankou, Death's servant, collecting the souls for his master…"_

"_Yes, indeed." _approved the Voice_. "But by not destroying Clairvaux when he could have done it, Sithis took a great risk. Even if Clairvaux must abide by the rules of the malediction, he remains very powerful and has one obsession: getting me back so he could finish the job he has started…" _

"_Wait, I just don't get it."_ interrupted Sigrid. "_If the Ankou is so powerful, why can't he just kill me and get you back?" _

"_This is still due to Sithis' malediction."_ sighted the Voice. _"First, he can't kill people himself. Second, Clairvaux, as the Ankou, is stuck between two states: not alive, not dead. He has lost his soul, but as his transformation is not finished, he still needs vital energy. That's why the Dread Father has allowed him to take as his own the souls of the last victims of the Dark Brotherhood at the end of each year_. _In addition, this solution has the advantage to make Clairvaux' situation a real torture. He is living with feelings, but they are not his, and this reminds him every single day of what he has lost…"_

"_So, if I sum it up, the Ankou would be some kind of…"_ started Vicente.

"…_vampire, yes."_ finished the Voice. _"But instead of drinking blood, he feasts on souls. And to answer your question Sigrid, the Ankou had not tried to kill you yet because he needs you to be the last person to die in Sithis' name during the last minutes of the New Year's Eve. Only doing so will allow him to get me back…"_

An appalled silence welcomed the Voice's words.

"_Why are you telling us all that? Why do you want to help Sigrid?"_ asked Vicente distrustfully after a while. "_You are Clairvaux' soul!"_

"_No, I am no!"_ replied the Voice dryly. _"I was the vital energy that once animated him. He wanted to get rid of me! Fine! But what should I look forward being reunited to him, as he will try to get rid of me again?"_

"_So, I am condemned because of you, am I not?"_ moaned Sigrid_. "You are stuck in my head, and the only way for you to get out is me being killed by that damn zombie…" _

"_Do you think I would have taken the risk of getting into your head and so of getting caught by both Sithis and the Ankou if there was no solution?"_ replied the Voice curtly. "_No, there is a last hope, and this is the hourglass."_

"_But I thought it was useless…"_

"_It is not. I am still linked to it – that's why it started to glow the first time you touched it - and we may use it to transfer myself out of your head and without the Ankou's intervention. The thing is that we need to find a necromancer, which is not going to be easy with Traven's purge going on…"_

The Voice stopped as Vicente gave a laugh.

"_Well, don't worry too much about that._" said the vampire, smiling._ "I am an undead and it appears I know exactly where we could find necromancers…"_

1. The chilli sauce is capital when eating rat meat. Without it, no one could eat rat meat. Ever. At all.


	15. Paradise and Party

**Yeah, a bit more action in this chapter! **

**A small word about Ontus Vanin. As far as I can remember him from the game, he is not supposed to be old nor fatty. But I have always pictured him looking like Uncle Iroh from the "Avatar" cartoon (you gotta love that character). Don't ask me why…**

**Ah yes, there is a nice amount of coarse language here (especially the "F" word), so, if rude words offend you, please don't read this chapter.**

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**

A small troop of riders was making good progress on the road between Vindasel and the Imperial City. Or at least, it was trying…

"Can we stop for a while?" moaned Ontus Vanin. "My ass feels like it has gone to sleep…"

Yohan, the young Evoker at Foulques Montfort's service, rolled his eyes. Traveling with the old mage had been a real pain in the neck, even if Vindasel was only three hours away from the Imperial City on horseback. Apparently, Vanin had not the physical condition to travel even on such a short distance. He had complained all the time and about almost everything: the state of the roads, the weather, the food… Now his new pet subject consisted in describing how many parts of his body – some of them Yohan had never heard of – were aching…

"Give me a second, Master Ontus." said the Evoker, trying to stay as polite as possible given the circumstances. "I need to refer to Master Foulques first…"

Yohan spurred his mount and caught up with Foulques Montfort, who was leading the small troop.

"Master Foulques." started Yohan once he had drawn level with him. "I am afraid Master Vanin needs to stop _again_…"

Foulques' gaze came to rest on the Evoker, and the latter could not help but shivered.

"_Oh Mara! Those eyes…"_

Foulques' reputation had no secret for Yohan. All right, his master could be a bit weird sometimes, but since now, he had always put the rumors on the count of malicious gossipers. However, after what happened in Vindasel, he had to review his opinion more than a bit…

Yohan cautiously risked an eye on the scabbard Foulques was wearing at his side. Montfort was not leaving the sword alone a single second, and the Evoker was sure his master was sleeping with it. Even worst, earlier this morning, he had heard Foulques whispering to the sword and stroking it lovingly.

"_Umbra, the eater of souls…"_

The young man resisted the temptation to cross himself to drive away the evil eye. They said Umbra could choose its owner, and then slowly ate away his or her sanity until it found a new possessor. Apparently, the doomed sword had set its heart on Foulques Montfort.

"What's wrong with him this time?" asked Foulques in a nonchalant voice.

"Well, his as… I mean his posterior is deadened."

There was a pause.

"I see." sighed Foulques after a while. "Fine, Evoker Yohan. We are going to make a halt here. Tell the men to dismount."

Yohan moved away from Foulques with relief and turned toward the rest of the troops.

"All right. We are going to make a break here. You can dismount guys!"

Ontus groaned in relief at the words and quickly slipped along his horse's side. He made a few hesitant steps, trying to bring back some life into his numb rear.

That was a nasty trick Hannibal Traven had played on him, really! The Archmage knew perfectly that kind of trips was not of Vanin's age anymore…

"Growing old is a very sad thing, hey, Master Ontus?" said Foulques behind him.

The old mage did not bother to turn around.

"Why? Do you care?" he asked curtly. "Don't you have your damn sword to worry about?"

"You really don't like me, Master Ontus." said Foulques simply.

"No, I really don't like you, Foulques." replied Ontus. "You are worst than a beast. But I used to like your sister Mahaut. She was a really talented student..."

"Funny, _all_ her _male_ teachers say that about her." said Foulques sarcastically. "I have never heard any kind of praise from her female ones…"

Vanin had an ironical laugh.

"Keep your dirty allusions for yourself, Foulques. Thankfully, not everybody is like you, raping everything that moves!"

"That's a shame you did not join our little party in Vindasel, really…That Umbra girl was definitely a good fuck." replied Foulques, a faraway look in the eyes. "I especially enjoyed the part when she was screaming helplessly when I plunged her own sword in her entrails…"

And the boy licked his lips as if remembering his feats in the Ayleid ruins was giving him an appetite.

"I wonder why I just didn't kill you on the spot…" Ontus growled. "You repugnant…"

"And what prevented you from doing so, Master Ontus?" Foulques interrupted him, shooting him a contemptuous look. "Fear?"

The old mage gritted his teeth. Of course it was fear! It was not that Foulques was a very powerful mage, but he benefited from supports at the highest level, in the Mage Guild as well as in the government, and Ontus did not need more enemies - he clearly had enough already. Nevertheless, he could not let Foulques think he was afraid on him…

"No, not fear." said Ontus Vanin. "I would rather say…pity."

And he brusquely walked back toward his horse, leaving alone a rather bemused Foulques.

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Sat on a hill that was overhanging the road, the Ankou was watching the troop of riders, scratching his chin thoughtfully and trying to work out what his next move would be.

The young Montfort had found the Umbra sword without too much trouble. And given the circumstances, there was no need to be particularly clever to foresee what the mage Guild was now intending to do with it…

"_So, Hannibal Traven wants to destroy the hourglass. Good."_ said the Ankou in his sepulchral voice.

Behind him, Shaleez raised an interrogative eyebrow.

"But you said you needed he hourglass to retrieve your soul back…"

The Argonian had troubles to understand the Ankou's particular way of thinking. One day, he was saying one thing and the next day, another. He had told her how he used the hourglass to transfer his soul out of his body and now he was talking about destroying it.

"_The hourglass is not important anymore, Shaleez."_ replied the Ankou patiently._ "Even if it gets destroyed now, I could create another one. No, what I really need is to get my soul back…"_

Shaleez shrugged. Why should she care anyway? As long as the Ankou kept his promise of bringing Uvani's back to life… And if in the process she could settle her personal grudge against Trencavel, J'Ghasta and Lachance, well, that would be perfect.

"_Of course, it would take me time."_ the liche continued, ignoring the Argonian's obvious boredness. _"But what we can't afford is the hourglass being used by the Dark Brotherhood."_

Actually, the Ankou really needed the hourglass to be destroyed. Sithis and the Night Mother had given it to Trencavel on purpose, and if the girl found out the way of using it, he could definitely write his soul off.

Because of the Dark Brotherhood members' intervention in Oblivion, he had not been able to take it away from Sigrid. And if he could not use, he should make sure that nobody else could either.

"_Are you ready for a little… mission, Shaleez?"_

"Yes, of course. You know I am craving for it."

"_Good. You see, Foulques Montfort seems to be a very… resourceful person_._" s_aid the Ankou, smiling. _"But I would like you to make sure that your dear friends from the Black Hand don't try anything to put their filthy hands on Umbra…"_

77777777777777777

The Cloud Ruler Temple's main hall was packed with people. All the Blades had gathered here, as well as Jauffre and Martin, but also Captain Burd, the Countess of Bruma and a few members from her personal guard. They were all talking animatedly about the battle of Bruma and about Trencavel's mission, eyeing worryingly the small Oblivion gate Martin had just opened right in the middle of the hall.

"I am glad I don't have to go back to Oblivion." said Burd, who couldn't remove his glance from the gate. "Once is enough in a man's life…"

"Well, it is called 'Mankar Camoran's Paradise', so maybe it is not that terrible…" replied Baurus, but he did not sound really convinced himself.

"Given Camoran's twisted personality, I won't bet on that…" said a feminine voice.

They all turned their attention toward the entrance door. Sigrid and Vicente had just entered the room.

"You sure you want to go?" whispered the vampire in the girl's ear. "It is not too late, you know, I can still replace you…"

"No, Vicente." replied Sigrid shaking her head negatively. "I have made up my mind. I will go, and alone."

After their discussion with the Voice, Vicente had told Sigrid about his intention to follow her in Mankar Camoran's Paradise. But she had declined his offer.

"Honestly, I am terrified about going there alone. However, I'd rather have you here, helping Martin and Jauffre to provide the gate to the Paradise with enough energy to keep it open." She had had a small smile. "You are the only one here powerful enough to help them. And if the gate gets close, we are all screwed…"

"Sigrid, Lucien had assigned me to protect you." the vampire had said, grabbing her by her shoulders. "There is no way I am going to leave you on your own…"

The girl had sighed.

"We don't have the choice, Vicente. Teinaava and Gogron are still recovering, and nobody else would accept to follow me…"

The vampire had soon had to admit that Sigrid was right. He finally had agreed to stay at the Cloud Ruler's Temple, even if very reluctantly.

"All right. If it put your mind at rest, I will stay here. But before you go, please take this."

He had taken something out from around his neck and put it down at the girl's palm. Sigrid had taken a close look at the small object which had appeared to be a small golden pendant.

It consisted in a medal delicately engraved with a floral motif. The girl had not been able to retain a smile, remembering where she had seen it before.

"There is… something I need to tell you…" The vampire had been looking rather embarrassed. "This pendant belonged to someone who was very dear to my heart…"

"I know whose pendant it is, Vicente." said Sigrid softly. "It belonged to my grand-mother, Rivanone Trencavel, who, apart being your lover for many years, also was Cheydinhall's Speaker and accessorily J'Ghasta and Lucien's mentor."

For the second time in the day, Vicente's jaw had dropped.

"But… how do you…?" His surprise brusquely had turned into anger. "Who told you that?" he had demanded.

"Lucien did."

Vicente had groaned.

"Ah! He wears his title of Speaker well! Cannot hold his tong a minute…"

"Well, I asked him where he got Shadowmere from." Sigrid had replied, shrugging. "I guess it was his very personal way of answering my question…"

She had raised the pendant into the light to take a better look at the motif engraved into the metal. She could not have said how happy she was to have found it again, given the fact she thought it was lost forever.

"A belladonna, the poisoners' favorite plant…" she had said, letting her finger running along the lines of the motif. "In Breton, it means 'beautiful lady'."

The vampire cleared his throat and looked at his feet.

"Actually, I am the one who offered this pendant to her." Vicente had said, sounding almost as if he was apologizing. "I thought a Belladona was suiting her style perfectly. Rivanone was so beautiful… but also very lethal."

At that point, Vicente had frankly been blushing, and Sigrid had done her best to curb her urge to burst out laughing.

"Lucien was right. Vampires are indeed hopeless romantics…"

Now, Sigrid was not sure whether Vicente's pendant would be able to protect her in Camoran's Paradise, but she could not prevent herself from clutching it nervously as she was walking resolutely toward Martin, feeling the glances of those gathered in the room on the back of her neck. Once Sigrid was near him, Martin kissed her on her forehead and hugged her. Usually, she was not very at ease with public demonstrations of affection, but this time, it really comforted her.

"I am ready." she said, freeing herself from Martin's embrace.

Martin frowned as he noticed her reddened eyes.

"But… You have cried, haven't you?" he asked, looking suddenly worried.

Sigrid tried to smile bravely.

"No, no, it is all right. I am just a bit tired, that's all…"

But Martin did not seem convinced. His expression became grave as he suddenly looked as if he had taken a decision.

"Jauffre?" he asked.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Please fetch me a sword." he demanded. "I am going to accompany Sigrid to Camoran's Paradise."

Some whispers and cries of protest started to rise from the crowd.

"But…" objected Jauffre.

"I think I just gave you an order, Master of the Blades."

"But…"

"I clearly felt my lips moving." Martin continued with the slighted hint of threat in his voice this time.

"No, Martin, no!" exclaimed Sigrid. "For Akatosh's sake, you _must_ stay here. We don't know what is waiting behind that door!"

"And it is exactly my point, actually." replied Martin. "There is no way you are going there alone!"

Somebody gave a polite cough and all glances turned toward the Countess Narina Carvain.

"Martin, I have not risked my city and its citizens' life for you to put in danger your life stupidly into that quest…"

Martin opened his mouth but Narina raised a hand to cut down his protestations.

"Your decision honors you." she continued. "But after all we have endured… I mean, Trencavel has proved she is perfectly able to deal with things alone and I think everybody here will agree with me."

There was a concert of approvals from the crowd. Martin desperately looked around for some support, but did not find any. He finally gave a sigh, defeated. Even if he knew Carvain was right, he could resolute himself into letting Sigrid facing alone whatever was lying behind the gate.

"Well, if I can't go, does anyone else want to help the Hero of Kvatch fighting Camoran and retrieving the Amulet of the Kings?"

There was a series of embarrassed throat clearings and feet scrapings.

"No one?" asked Martin, sounding both surprised and disappointed.

"It is fine, Martin." said Sigrid smiling and stroking his cheek affectingly. "I have been to Oblivion on my own before…"

"_Hey, who said you were alone?"_ asked the Voice in her head.

"_Ah, yes…How could I have forgotten you?" _Sigrid replied sarcastically.

She was boasting, but actually, she was positively terrified. The girl gulped and, after having shot Martin a last glance, she walked toward the gate.

"Just one more thing before you go." said a voice behind her.

Sigrid turned around to face Narina Carvain. She was holding in her hands something that looked like a sword.

"This is for you." she said, holding out the stealth to Sigrid. "This is the Akaviri Katana I used during the Battle of Burma. I hope you may find it… useful."

"Thank you, your Ladyship." the girl replied graciously, taking the katana the Countess was offering her.

The two women then exchanged a long glance.

"If anything happened to me, please take care of Martin…" Sigrid finally whispered to the Countess.

"If anything happens to you, I am afraid we will have other things to care about." Nirana whispered back, patting the girl on the shoulder. "But don't worry. I will do my best to comfort him."

Sigrid nodded and turned back toward the gate to Camoran's Paradise.

"_Mankar Camoran, here we come!"_ exclaimed the Voice cheerfully.

And, holding her breath, Sigrid crossed the gate.

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Night had fallen over the Imperial City, but it did not mean the streets were empty. With the New Years festivities coming, they were buzzing with activity as if during daylight. But this was not disturbing the few shadowy silhouettes that preferred to carry out their business at night – whatever that business may be.

Thus, given the number of people in the streets, no one - even the patrolling guards - paid attention to the particular shadowy silhouette which was slipping silently between the chimneys on the roofs. After a while, it stopped by a chimney which seemed to interest him more than the others. And indeed, another dark figure was leaning against it, apparently enjoying the view.

"Foulques has just arrived back to the Imperial City." whispered the first shadow to the second one. "And Mahaut told me he has brought something very special from his little trip. But I haven't managed to find out yet what it is…"

The figure which was leaning against the chimney shook its head in a disapproving way and took its hood off.

"Tsss, tsss, very disappointing, Lucien." said J'Ghasta, smiling and passing a hand in his mane to smooth it down. "Usually, you should have already told me what Montfort's favorite pet's name was and until what age he wet his bed…"

"Hmm, I am afraid I don't have any information on the last points you mentioned, but I can tell you what the future fashion trends in Cyrodiil will be for the next fifty years…"

J'Ghasta laughed quietly.

"I see you are talking your part as Mahaut's servant very seriously…"

His face brusquely became grave.

"Now, it is time to take action." the Khajit said thoughtfully. "Whatever Foulques had found, the less time he keeps it, the better!"

"Don't you think we should wait a bit more and set up a proper action plan?"

The Khajit shook his head negatively once more.

"No. I will intervene tonight. As for you, just make sure that the Montforts are too busy to worry about me."

"They are very powerful mages…" warned Lucien.

"I am planning on the surprise effect."

"If you say so, Listener." sighed Lucien.

Damn, he really hated when J'Ghasta was rushing into things like that. But apparently, the Khajit had made up his mind, and in that case, trying to argue with him was a complete loss of time. Rather pissing in the wind.

"And now, if you'll excuse me..." continued the Speaker. "Mahaut is preparing some kind of reception for her brother's return, and I am supposed to give her a hand to spread the toasts…"

"Sounds very fun." J'Ghasta chuckled. "Have a good time, Speaker. And may the Night Mother be with you"

"Good luck, Listener." replied Lucien, bowing. "And may you always walk in the shadow of death."

And in a whirling of robes, he disappeared from the Khajit's sight.

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All the Montforts' domestics were gathered in the manor's entrance to greet their returning master, and as a servant of the family, Lucien was among them. The whole thing was starting to seriously get on his nerves, but at least it had allowed him to escape toast spreading…

The Master assassin took a close look at Foulques Montfort as he entered the Manor's main hall, closely followed by the rest of his suite. With his fair hair, green eyes and his awesome face, he was definitely good boyfriend material and Lucien noticed how the women present in the room were eyeing him hungrily.

The assassin, on the contrary, had taken a sudden dislike to Foulques. Oh, he has seen many bastards in his life – he had recruited a few and himself was certainly no saint – but there was something irremediably repulsive, but also fascinating, about the Breton boy. Maybe it was the contrast between his angelic appearance and the general impression of debauchery and depravation which was emanating from him.

Mahaut ran toward Foulques and threw her arms around his neck.

"Welcome home, brother!"

"Thank you, Mahaut. It is nice to be home." replied Foulques, scanning the faces of the servants present in the room. His green glance stopped on Lucien and his eyes narrowed. Mahaut immediately spotted her brother interrogative look.

"Foulques, this is Lucien Lachance, Trencavel's former…er, chaperon and now my new servant." she said.

Lucien bowed to Mahaut's brother and the boy sized Lucien up at a glance, the slightest sneer on his face.

"Welcome here, Lucien." Foulques said after a while. "I am sure you will find yourself perfectly at ease among us. And now, we'd better go and get something to eat before someone is going to faint from hunger." he added, eyeing obviously toward Ontus Vanin, whose stomach was growling loudly. "Let the banquet begin!"

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While all the guests were having fun at the feast which was now going full swing, a couple of guards were in deep trouble upstairs.

Actually, it was already too late for one of them, who was already lying on the floor, dead.

As for the second, something had grabbed him around the neck and he was desperately struggling as very sharp things were driven into his neck. He had a last spasm and his eyes turned upward as the claws were slowly removed from his throat. There was a shower of blood and the guard slowly collapsed on his knees and then on the floor.

J'Ghasta nonchalantly stepped over the corpse and walked toward the door.

"_Hmm, four gorges key lock. Shouldn't be too hard to open…"_ he thought, examining the lock while licking his fingers full of blood absentmindedly.

The Khajit took out of his pocket a metal rod on which were fixed several little mirrors. He slipped the metal rod under the door, and checked the room for potential traps.

"_No traps, magical or not…Weird, very weird…"_

J'Ghasta was amazed indeed. He had been pretty sure that, whatever Foulques Montfort had brought with him, it was a valuable artifact. And in that case, you just don't protect it with two half-sleepy guards, do you? Or maybe Montfort was so infatuated with himself he believed nobody would try to steal something from him. The Khajit sniggered. Well, if it was so, Montfort was going to be very surprised.

After a few broken lockpits and a lot of swearing, the door opened silently. J'Ghasta stepped in carefully and looked around the room. It did not take him long to identify the object he was looking for.

A sword was resting in a display cabinet. A single handed, jet-black sword, from which was emanating a purple aura. J'Ghasta immediately realized what he was contemplating – for he heard a lot of legends about it – and he gave a low but enthusiastic whistle.

"_Umbra... Damn, the Montforts do not do things by halves!"_

Fascinated, he walked toward the display cabinet, forced the lock and opened the window. Now, J'Ghasta could discern the runes engraved on Umbra's blade. Almost shivering in excitement, the Khajit hold his hand toward the sword and caught it by its guard.

Immediately, Umbra twisted like a snake in his hand and gave a scream similar to a woman's one. Surprised, J'Ghasta let the sword go and it fall heavily and noisily on the floor.

The Khajit held his breath and pricked his ears to listen to the sounds of rushing footsteps that here were inevitably going to follow. But it seemed no one had heard anything. Given the rave-up they were having downstairs, that was not surprising.

Reassured, J'Ghasta breathed again and frowning, he kneeled on the ground by the sword. He held out his hand toward Umbra to catch it again but stopped his move a few inch away from the pommel.

"_Ah, come on, it is just a piece of metal… Well, right, an enchanted one, but still…"_

Despite himself, J'Ghasta closed his eyes and gritted his teeth when his fingers closed around the sword's hilt. But this time, nothing happened and he sighed in relief as he quickly fixed the sword behind his back.

"_Now let's get out of here."_ he thought, opening the window.

He was about to step over the window ledge when something hot whirled by his cheek and drove itself into the wall behind him. The Khajit eyes widened in surprise as he realized what was happening…

"_But who is the bloody ass who is shooting burning arrows at the manor?" _

Several other burning arrows hit the manor's front, sometimes breaking a window. J'Ghasta swore under his breath.

"A thief! There is an assassin in the Montforts' manor!" a voice yelled outside.

Guided by the sound of the voice, J'Ghasta managed to locate the marksman. He – or she – was standing on the roof opposite to the Monfort's manor and he disappeared quickly from sight as he spotted J'Ghasta looking at him from the window.

J'Ghasta frowned. The silhouette was familiar to him. As well as the voice, actually. He had heard it before, but where?

He did not get much time to ponder more over the question. The arrows had put onto fire some of the wall coverings hanging in the rooms and some windows were now vomiting a heavy black smoke. Alerted, a company of guards was running toward the manor.

"_So much for the surprise effect…" _thought J'Ghasta, wincing and preparing himself for a though fight.

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Downstairs, the banquet was going full swing, and the stage of simple civil drinking had been largely outshined now by the one of sheer binge.

All the guests were quite drunk, except an old and chubby mage called Ontus Vanin, who was wolfing down with great enthusiasm the little cucumbers sandwiches it had taken Lucien so much time to toast.

But the latter did not mind much at the moment, very busy he was supporting a rather wasted Mahaut, who was leaning heavily on his arm, laughing madly.

"Thizz izz really good Cognac, you know…" she chuckled.

"It seems so, your Ladyship…"

"Wanna some?"

"No, thank you, your Ladyship…"

"Oh, com' on, try some!" Mahaut insisted, shaking the bottle under Lucien's nose. "You're my friend… aren't you?"

Lucien looked Aetheriuswards.

"Yes, yes, I am…"

"And d'you know what?" asked Mahaut with a mischievous smile, eying lovingly the flask of Cognac". "I think the bottle is also my friend…!"

"I don't think so…" replied Lucien while taking the bottle away from her. "And as your _real_ friend, your Ladyship, I think it is now bedtime."

"Ah, no." she protested. "I will go to bed only if you come with me."

And she made a funny _pfff!_ noise with her lips, collapsing on Lucien and grabbing him around the neck.

"_Oh, Night Mother, why me?" _thought Lucien as he was trying to untangle himself from Mahaut's embrace.

"So, enjoying yourself, Lachance?" a thick voice asked behind him.

Lucien turned around to face Foulques' mocking eyes. The latter had a weird glow in his eyes and Lucien saw the troubles coming ahead…

"I guess this mustn't change you much from your former job, hey?" asked Foulques nonchalantly.

"Well, believe it or not, your Lordship, but it is actually quite different…" replied Lucien, who had finally managed to push away Mahaut.

"It is funny, I have been to the Trencavel's manor many times, and I have never seen you there."

"I was hired not long ago, your Lordship."

"Really?" asked Foulques, doubtful. "And Lord Trencavel has accepted to confide his precious heir to a perfect stranger?"

"Yes, your Lordship, it seems he has…"

"But if he trusted you so much, why did you leave his service?"

"Lady Mahaut made me an offer I could not refuse." said Lucien.

Foulques replied nothing but took a sip from his glass of wine, his eyes riveted on Lucien.

"Did you know I was supposed to marry Trencavel?" the boy finally asked.

"I have heard of that, your Lordship…"

The feeling of alarm which had been slowly rising in Lucien's chest since the beginning of his conversation with Foulques became suddenly more acute. The assassin was still not sure where the young man's interrogatory was going, but he was probably not going to like it much.

"Did you fuck her?" asked Foulques brutally.

Lucien's eyelids flickered. He wondered for a second if he had heard properly Foulques' question, but the boy's obvious sneer convinced him he had.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said: did-you-fuck-her?" repeated Foulques, articulating each syllables as if he was talking to a three-years old. "I mean, as Trencavel's chaperon, you must have had quite a lot of opportunities to have her…"

"You are drunk, Master Foulques." replied Lucien coldly. "Or maybe you don't know the proper meaning of the word 'chaperon'."

"Ah, come on, man!" said Foulques as he passed a friendly arm around Lucien's shoulders. "We are between friends here. You can tell me you fucked Trencavel, no problem." His face drew nearer and Lucien could smell his breath charged in alcohol. "After all, you are _also_ going to fuck my sister, aren't you?"

It took the Black Hand's Speaker all those years of self-control training in the Brotherhood not to put his hand in the boy's face. The reason behind Foulques' obvious desire to provoke Lucien remained quite obscure to him, but at least, one thing was certain: if the dirty little jerk said "fuck" again, and self-control or not, Lucien would punch him so hard in the face he would have to spend the rest of the night looking for his teeth on the floor…

"Leave him alone, Foulques." spat Mahaut, pushing her brother away from Lucien. Apparently, her brother's intervention seemed to have sobered her up completely.

"Ooooh, look who is talking now!" exclaimed Foulques sarcastically. "My poor sister, you are just good enough to rescue Trencavel's leftovers…"

Mahaut's eyes widened in shock and for an instant, she looked as if she was going to jump at her brother's throat. But instead, tears started rolling along her cheeks, and with a cry of rage, she ran toward the door and exited the room.

"What did I say?" asked Foulques, looking falsely surprised.

Not sure about the conduct to adopt first, Lucien finally decided that he'd better go after Mahaut if he did not want to stay alone with Foulques.

"Hey!" the boy yelled in Lucien's back as he was leaving the room. "If you need some tips on how to make my sis' have it away, let me know…! What do you want, you?" he added quickly as a servant gave a very polite cough in his back.

"Sorry to interrupt, your Lordship, but I am afraid we have a problem…"

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After a quarter of an hour searching, Lucien finally found Mahaut in the garden. Sat on a bench and face buried in her hands, the young girl was crying silently, her gracious shoulders shaken by regular sobs.

"Your Ladyship?" asked Lucien softly.

He put his hand on one of her shoulders but she freed herself brusquely.

"Leave me alone…" she said in a tearful voice.

"Your brother did not think what he said…"

"Of course he did!" she replied forcefully. "You don't know him! You don't know what he is capable of…"

She suddenly bit her lips as if she was afraid to have said too much.

"_Oh but I am perfectly aware of what your brother is capable of, my dear."_ thought Lucien, remembering what he had found out on Foulques. Of course, he could not tell Mahaut about his little enquiry on her family.

"There." he said, sitting by her side and holding her a handkerchief. "Stop crying or your make-up is going to get washed away…"

"Thank you." she sniffed, taking the tissue.

Lucien watched her blowing her noise, and once again, he was stricken by the likeness between Mahaut and Sigrid – especially when they were upset. And, accessorily, he suddenly realized he was sitting really close to Mahaut now.

"Lucien?" the latter asked, now she seemed to have calmed down. "May I ask you a question?"

"Hmm?"

"You and Sigrid… Did you… I mean, did you, er, you know…"

Lucien frowned and burst out laughing when he realized what Mahaut meant.

"Why on Nirn everybody wants me to have slept with her?" he said, rolling his eyes. "No, I haven't had sex with Trencavel. Never."

Mahaut looked amazingly relieved.

"Anyway, does it really matter to you?" continued Lucien.

Mahaut had a mischievous smile and riveted her eyes to his. The assassin noticed that her eyes were plain green, whereas Trencavel's were spotted with golden sparks.

"Yes, it does." Mahaut whispered. And her face drew nearer his.

Lucien was not sure how it happened next, but he found himself kissing Mahaut. Or maybe it was the contrary? Anyway, what really mattered was that his lips were on hers. The smell of Cyrodiilic cognac had not completely driven away the original taste of Mahaut's lips and while he kissed her deeper, Lucien wondered if Trencavel's lips tasted the same…

The thought worked as an electrical discharged on him. He pushed Mahaut away and got up quickly.

"What's wrong with you?" Mahaut asked, dumfounded.

"I am sorry." Lucien mumbled, passing a hand on his face. "I should not have done that…"

Mahaut was about to protest but stopped. In the distance, they could here some ruffle going on. And it did not sound like the kind of ruffle you could hear when a normal party was going on. Rather, it was more sounding like a "someone-might-get-hurt" kind of clamor.

Mahaut and Lucien exchanged a glance and both rushed inside the manor as one man.

Once in the room where the banquet was taking place, they immediately spotted a group of heavily armed men which was surrounding a chained figure kneeling on the ground.

"He killed five of us!" growled one of the guards.

"What's going on?" someone asked in the crowd of guests.

"That filthy son of a bitch tried to steal the sword which was in Master Foulques' personal cabinet!" replied another guard, holding his wounded arm.

Lucien's heart sank when he recognized the prisoner.

"_J'Ghasta…"_

He was covered in blood – probably not his – and in chains as well. The guards had even taken the precaution to muzzle him, which was definitely not a bad idea from Lucien's point of view, who perfectly knew what kind of damage the Khajit's jaws could cause…

"Foulques? What happened?" Mahaut asked once near her bother. "And who is that Khajit?"

"I don't know yet, but I have the feeling that our dear friend Lucien may be able to help us to answer that question... Do you know him?" demanded Foulques to Lucien.

Now, the young man was not looking inebriated anymore and the assassin wondered if Foulques had only pretended to be drunk to make it easier to provoke him.

"And may I ask, your Lordship, why should I know him?" asked Lucien coldly.

"Well, it is a bit strange, isn't it?" said Foulques, his eyes narrowing. "Since my sister bumped into Trencavel and you the other day, we keep being visited regularly by the Dark Brotherhood… Because you are from the Brotherhood, aren't you?" he asked J'Ghasta, punctuating his sentence by a vigorous wallop on his head.

"I am not sure what you are implying, your Lordship." replied Lucien, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

"Foulques, if you are accusing Lucien, I hope you have at least some evidences…" growled Mahaut.

Foulques decided to change of tactics, having understood that he would not succeed in infuriating Lucien that way and would not get any support either.

"So, you would not mind if I execute him right now, then?" the young man asked Lucien, a nasty glow in the eyes.

Lucien remained quiet, but was boiling inside.

"I take your silence as a yes." the boy said cheerfully.

And Foulques raised his sword, the light of the candles shining on the blade.

"Enough!"

Something hit Foulques' hand in a shower of blue sparks and his sword flew in the air several feet away from him. Some people from the crowd cried in surprise.

"Who dared…?" the young Breton hissed, clutching his wounded hand.

The crowd drew aside and Ontus Vanin stepped forward. He was very red in the face, nostrils flaring in anger and veins beating on his forehead.

"I am sick and tired of your manners, Montfort!" roared the mage. "Who do you think you are to take upon yourself to execute people like this?"

"And who do you think you are to attack me and give me orders in my own house?" Foulques growled back.

Surprised by Vanin's outburst, all were watching the scene, apparently forgetting about J'Ghasta's existence. All, except one…

Turning to good account the guards' inattention, Lucien removed the stiletto he was hiding up his sleeve, grabbed Mahaut by the neck, and hiding behind her, pointed his dagger right at her throat.

"Lucien?" asked Mahaut in a panicked voice. "What are you doing?"

Lucien could not see her face, but he could perfectly picture her eyes wide in terror. The rest of the crowd was looking at him in awe, while the guards had taken their swords out of their stealth, waiting for Montfort's order.

"Now, everybody calms down and listen to me…" started Lucien.

"Kill him!" shrieked Foulques, pointing at Lucien. "He is from the Dark Brotherhood as well!"

"Do that," said Lucien slowly, "and your sister is dead."

"Kill her, and your _friend_ here is dead!"

Foulques' facial expression twitched from anger to pure self-satisfaction.

"Er, excuse me?" a voice asked.

All glances moved toward Ontus Vanin.

"Now, can't we settle that peacefully?" pleaded the old mage.

"It depends on you." growled Lucien. "First, I want you to untie my friend here…"

"Dream on!" spat Foulques.

"Please Foulques, be reasonable." begged Vanin. "It is your sister's life which is at stake…"

The young man looked around for support, but all he could find was the rather puzzled look on the guards' face. Apparently, they were hesitating on the correct procedure to follow.

"Fine. You!" he said, looking like he had just eaten something really bitter and pointing at a guard. "Untie the Khajit!"

The guard Foulques had just designated gulped down and carefully walked toward J'Ghasta. With great care he removed the chains from his wrists and ankles and quickly stepped back.

"Can you walk?" whispered Lucien to the Khajit as the he was taking place by his side, removing the muzzle from his head.

"I think so." he grunted, massaging his jaw. "But don't expect me to be able to run miles…"

"And now what?" asked Foulques. "Are we going to spend the rest of the night looking at each other straight in the face?

"Give us five minutes." said Lucien. "Nothing less. That should be enough for us to escape. And I give you my word we won't do any harm to your sister…"

Foulques sniggered.

"And do you think I am going to believe you? As if assassins had a word…"

"I am afraid you don't really have the choice, Foulques…"

The boy took a little while to ruminate what his answer would be.

"Right. Five minutes, Lucien. Nothing less, but nothing more either…" Foulques had another nasty smile of his. "And if anything happens to Mahaut, I will take care of you to such an extend that even your dear Night Mother won't be able to recognize what will be left of you…"

Lucien carefully started to walk back toward the exit, keeping his eyes on Foulques and the guards. Once J'Ghasta and he were out of the room, they broke into a run toward the stables. Lucien was pushing Mahaut in front of him, the dagger still pointed at her throat.

"Let me call Shadowmere." said Lucien once they arrived at the stables.

And without waiting for an answer, he gave a short but strong whistle.

"There, she should be here in a minute." he continued. "And what about Mahaut?"

"You ask me?" spat J'Ghasta. "Kill her! As for me, I am going to try to find myself a horse…"

The Khajit spotted an old stallion, which was quietly browsing the oats in its manger. Well, it may not be the fastest horse in Cyrodiil, but it was even better in J'Ghasta's opinion, who had never been a great fan of horses…

He untied the horse and walked back to where he had left Lucien and Mahaut. And to his great displeasure, he realized that the girl was still alive. Lucien had pinned her against the wall, his dagger raised and aiming at her throat. The girl's mouth was opened in terror, her eyes riveted on the blade, as for Lucien, he was looking as if he had seen a ghost.

"Hey, Lucien, what's wrong?" asked the Khajit again.

But the Speaker remained quiet. He slowly lower his arm and released his grip on Mahaut. The young woman collapsed slowly on the floor, crying silently and her eyes still full of fear. At the same time, J'Ghasta heard a clamor somewhere in the distance. It looked like Foulques had lost patience. Or maybe the little sod couldn't count until five?

"Lucien! They are coming." yelled the Khajit. "Kill her, for Sithis' sake Kill…!"

The Khajit was forced to interrupt himself as he cried in pain and collapsed on the floor. This immediately made Lucien coming back to his mind. He ran toward his friend and winced at the sight of his wound. A fire curse had hit him in the back, burning part of his skin and even the muscles underneath.

"In the stables!" yelled someone. "They are in the stables!"

Lucien looked around, searching desperately for a way to escape. Of course, there was not…

Fortunately, this was the moment Shadowmere chose to come out of nowhere in the stables' court.

Not loosing a second, the Speaker threw J'Ghasta on his shoulder, jumped on the mare's back and set off at top speed at the exact moment Foulques and the guards irrupted into the stables' yard. They tried to block the way, but Shadowmere jumped over them easily.

"What would I do without you?" Lucien whispered with fondness in the mare's ear as they were crossing one of the city's door, tearing along.

Shadowmere snorted, probably to mean something like "nothing much".

And in a thunder of hoof beats, they disappeared into the night.


	16. Alea jacta est

**Chapter 16**

**Oh dear, I have just realized that I have spelled "Khajiit" wrong, and this since the very first chapter. It is supposed to take to "I", not just one. banging her head on the desk.**

**Ah well, I will correct that later.**

**Weee, plenty of rows into that chapter. This was sort of inevitable, given the numbers of emotional issues the characters are currently dealing with…. **

**So, again, not too much action here (a little bit at the end). But I promise there will be some serious twists and actions scenes before this fic ends!**

**One more thing. **

**Most of the Latin locutions (in Tamriel, I have decided to call it "Imperialin". Sorry, I have made that one up, could not resist…) I am using here are actually true ones, either used by Horace, Virgil and so on, as well as in the Christian Catholic liturgy. Hey, what did you think? I am not clever enough to make up grammatically correct ones myself.**

**I have been a bit lazy and did not put the English translation. You can look up for it on the Net (more precisely, on Wikipedia) if you feel like it. Anyway, if you do not understand Latin/Imperialin, it is your entire fault. You should have classical education. :P**

**And a very special thanks to the Vampire Apple for her help on the Latin locutions!**

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Ontus Vanin footsteps were echoing in the Imperial Palace's corridors, his impressive belly bouncing to the rhythm of his pace.

The old mage was definitely not in a good mood. First, the incident at the Montforts' manor the night before had shaken him quite a lot – that was definitely too much action for an old man like him. Second, because of that, he did not get much sleep – and he needed at least his 8-hour beauty sleep. Thirdly, he had not been able to finish those lovely toasts – the ones with the nice spreading on – as some indelicate servants had thrown them over in the morning. And finally, he was now forced to run around in that bloody Palace – this? A Palace? They'd better call it a a labyrinth! – in order to prevent a catastrophe from happening.

After a few minutes of walking and belly bouncing, he arrived in front of a door framed by two rather sinister-looking legionnaires, armed with very big and sharp halberds – which crossed immediately in front of Vanin in a metallic noise as he was trying to get trough impressive door of the Council of the Elders.

"Quo vadis?" asked one of the legionnaire.

Vanin frowned. Ah, just his luck, really! A young legionnaire who wanted to make some zeal and was trying to impress him by talking in Imperialin, the old Imperial dialect…

"I am Master Ontus Vanin, member of the Council of Mages and of the Council of the Elders."

"Vade retro, Master Ontus. No one is allowed to trespass in the Elder Council Chambers." said the guard in a flat voice. "Chancellor Ocato is having a meeting."

"And this is exactly why I want to get in." replied Ontus, forcing a friendly smile. "So now, if you would be kind enough to remove those halberds from my way…"

And as he said so, he gently pushed the spears with his tummy. But they did not move from an inch.

"I said _'no one'_, Master Ontus."

"Come on, man! You know who I am."

"A bove ante, ab asino retro, a stulto undique caveto." said the young guard sententiously.

Ontus Vanin blinked.

"_What_?"

"Vae victis!" replied the Legionnaire,

"Are you making fun of me, young man?" Ontus growled.

"Please, Master Ontus." pleaded the second guard, who was a bit older than his colleague and thus was perfectly aware of Vanin's reputation. "Chancellor Ocato has been very clear. He did not want to be disturbed. At any price. By anyone. And especially by, er… you."

A malicious gleam came into the old mage's eyes and the second guard, who in addition of being more experienced than his colleagues, was also cleverer, started to walk away very carefully.

"No one can enter the Council of the Elder's chamber." repeated stubbornly the first guard, who, unfortunately, did not dispose of his comrade's IQ.

"Oh, is that so?"

There was a flash of light and the two guards flew in the air, screaming and trashing the air with their arms, before they crashed on the top of one another right in the middle of the venerable and huge round table of the Council of the Elders.

"Hey look here!" Ontus exclaimed, readjusting his robes and crossing what was left of the door.

His eyes scanned the vast room and immediately spotted the three figures gathered at its extreme end. He walked quickly toward them, like a very angry homing missile wrapped into a very flashy set of robes.

"Happy, are you?" he snarled once near the three silhouettes.

Hannibal Traven said nothing but shot Vanin a very dark glance, Mahaut Montfort carefully tried to avoid his gaze and Chancellor Ocato raised an interrogative eyebrow.

"I don't remember you were invited to our meeting, Master Ontus…" he said nonchalantly, looking at the two guards who were moaning in pain.

"It is probably because I was not, o pompabile anus culi **1** …" replied Ontus, who had never really cared about Imperialin declinations or about politeness.

"I beg your pardon?" replied a very surprised Ocato, who had not bother much with dead languages either.

"Nevermind. I just thought my efforts at speaking Imperialin may cheer up the young lads here." said Vanin, gesturing toward the two severely shaken legionnaires.

"Amicus certus in re incerta cernitur…" whispered the youngest guard.

"Oh, shut up…" muttered his comrade, still stuck under him.

"Well, if you were not invited, you won't mind if I ask you to leave." continued Ocato, pointing at the door.

"I am certainly not going to leave, Ocato. Not after what happened last night!"

Ontus' eyes fell onto Mahaut and the latter blushed.

"A rather unfortunate incident." commented Traven. "Which, fortunately, ended well thanks to Master Foulques' cold-blooded handling of the situation."

Vanin's belly shivered in indignation.

"Cold-blooded handling? The little bastard was ready to let his sister killed!"

"Such abnegation to our cause is worth praises, Vanin, not blames…" said Traven very seriously. "Without him, the Umbra may have fallen into the Dark Brotherhood's hands…"

"Good for us and too bad for them!" exclaimed Vanin. "Why don't you let them dealing with Clairvaux themselves? As far as we know, they don't have much interest into letting the Ankou coming back either!"

"You don't understand…" replied the Archmage. "Umbra will not only help us to get rid of Clairvaux. She is also the key to get rid of Mannimarco himself!"

"You are making a terrible mistake, Hannibal…" warned Ontus. "You are letting your hatred of necromancers is confusing your judgment! Umbra doesn't serve anyone, except itself!"

"The biggest mistake I have done so far was to allow you keeping a seat at the Council of Mages!"

"And what about you, Ocato?" growled Ontus. "What are you gaining from all this?"

The Chancellor replied nothing, but shot a defiant and ironical look at Vanin.

"Mahaut, please." begged Ontus, turning toward the girl. "You know I am right! You have seen what that… that _thing_ has already done to your brother!" he added, pointing at Umbra.

As if the sword had understood his words, it started glowing softly and Vanin was sure it was making fun of him.

Mahaut looked at Umbra, then at Vanin, clearly hesitating. Finally, she bit her lips and taking a deep breath, she turned toward Traven.

"I am ready to do what you are expecting from me, Archmage." she said in a very resolute voice.

"Well, I think Master Mahaut had made up her mind…" said Ocato, with the faintest sneer of his distinguished face. "And now this issue had been sorted out, I would not like to detain you, Master Ontus…"

The old mage heard a series of metallic noises behind him and he turned around to face a whole company of legionnaires who seemed to be very, _very_ annoyed.

"Fine! If you are taking it like this, I am leaving." said Vanin with as much dignity as he was capable of. "But you couldn't say I did not warn you…"

He then turned once more toward Mahaut.

"I wish I could have helped you, my girl" he said sadly. "But you are beyond help."

And framed between a dozen of guards, he left the Elders Council Chambers.

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Schemer, the pet rat of the Cheydinhall sanctuary, was trotting merrily along the corridors which were unusually empty. This was not bothering the rat much, and actually, he was even rather pleased. He had just found a very nice piece of cheese – well, "found" was probably not the most appropriated term, given the fact he had stolen it from an abandoned shopping bag. But such kind of opportunity did not happen very often, and Schemer was decided to take full advantage of the situation…

Looking around to make sure he was alone, he quickly slipped between the half-opened doors of the leaving quarters and almost had a heart attack when he was welcomed by a series of loud screams.

The rat dropped his piece of cheese, ran to hide under a bed and, carefully lifting up the blanket with his muzzle, he observed the scene.

It seemed that all the other big rats which were sharing the den with him had gathered here. One of them was bending over another and his paws were producing a strange light, whereas the rest was lining against the wall, watching the scene in a very respectful and maybe fearful silence. Except for one – whom Schemer identified as the chief of the den – who was sitting on the table, looking slightly amused.

"Warrrgh!" J'Ghasta yelled again. "Are you healing me, man, or are you just trying to finish me off?"

"I am sorry if I have hurt you, o honorable Listener." apologized M'raaj-Dar, removing his hands quickly from J'Ghasta's back. "But it would make things easier for me if you could stop moving…"

"He has always been a very soft person…" whispered Lucien, not making any effort to hide the note of derision in his voice.

J'Ghasta grunted and retreated into a sulky silence. M'raaj-Dar gritted his teeth in anger. Healing the Listener was demanding him more patience that he actually had. He shot Lachance a sidelong glance and the latter replied by giving him an encouraging smile. Sighing heavily, M'raaj-Dar bent toward the Listener's back and set to work again.

Lucien had arrived at the sanctuary earlier in the day, carrying a badly wounded J'Ghasta. M'raaj-Dar remembered the felling off terror that had gripped his chest when Lucien had ordered him to cure the Listener. The injury was one of the worst M'raaj-Dar had seen - and he had seen a lot – and he was not sure he had the competence to cure such kind of wound. But anyway, he did not have the choice, did he?

J'Ghasta winced but did not yell this time when the Khajiit mage hurt him once more.

"Enough!" he said, pushing M'raaj-Dar brutally backward. "I think that will do!"

M'raaj-Dar's lips pursed up in disapproval but he remained quiet. Despite his very bad temper and sharp tong, he was clever enough to know when to keep his mouth shut. He bowed stiffly to the Listener and left the room, shutting the door behind him maybe a little harder than necessary.

"And you, don't you have anything else to do?" J'Ghasta snarled toward the rest of the audience who promptly ran away on M'raaj-Dar's heels and without asking any question.

When he was sure everybody was gone, the Khajit stood up and walked toward a mirror that was standing in a corner of the room. Once in front of it, he contorted himself to take a better look at his back and made a face at the sight. He had to admit that M'raaj-Dar had done a nice job. The wound had been cleanly healed, but unfortunately, J'Ghasta's fur on his back had remained burnt.

"Look at that. My back look like a moth-eaten doormat…" he said, shaking his head miserably. "And can't you just go away, you stupid animal!" he then exclaimed, trying to kick Schemer who was sniffing his boots affectingly.

The rat gave a terrified squeak and run toward Lucien.

"Now listen, J'Ghasta." started Lucien bending and opening his arms to the rat. "I know you are a bit upset because of that little incident at the Montforts' manor, but this is not a reason to take your bad mood on M'raaj-Dar… Nor on that poor rat, by the way!" he added, patting the frightened Schemer gently on the head.

The Khajiit looked at Lucien in disbelief.

"A _little incident_? Lucien, it is a _complete disaster_!" he burst out. "The Umbra sword is still in the Montforts' possession, and half of the Imperial City knows we are from the Dark Brotherhood!"

"Well, they only suspect us of being from the Brotherhood…" corrected Lucien, tickling Schemer's belly, to the rat's greatest pleasure.

"Which is already too much!" spat J'Ghasta. "And why on Nirn did you intervene when Foulques was arguing with the fat mage? You have blown up your cover!"

"I would not have had to intervene if you did not get caught stupidly!" protested Lucien. "If there is something to blame here, it is your incompetence…"

Lucien regretted his words almost immediately. Given J'Ghasta's current state of annoyance, this was probably not the wisest thing to say. After all, when a Khajiit was having a bad hair day, he was having it all over the body…

"Talking about competence, o you ruthful and merciless assassin, may I ask you since when you have hesitations when it comes to kill people?" asked J'Ghasta sarcastically.

Lucien unconsciously tightened his grip on Schemer's head. The rat gave a squeak of protestation.

"_Here we go…"_ Lucien thought, bending toward the ground once more and releasing the rat.

"I was a bit… surprised, that's all." he replied, on the defensive. "After all, I had just given my word to Foulques that nothing would happen to…"

J'Ghasta interrupted him with a dry laugh and his chops curled up in a very nasty sneer.

"As if you had ever cared about keeping your promises, Lucien…" he sneered. "It is not the first time you break one, and probably won't be the last…"

Lucien remained quiet, but he was now looking at J'Ghasta through narrow eyes and the Khajiit could feel his anger quickly building up behind his dark pupils.

"Funny." J'Ghasta quipped. "Have you noticed how much Sigrid looks like Mahaut…? Oooh, but of course you have! And that is probably why you did not kill the Montfort girl, right?"

Lucien was now clenching his fists mechanically, and the Khajiit could see he was making great effort trying not to jump at him.

"Rivanone was right concerning you." carried on J'Ghasta, decided to hound Lucien into a corner. "By stubbornly trying to suppress your feelings all the time – except anger – you have efficiently handicapped your ability to deal intelligently with them!"

"And she was right about you as well." snarled Lucien, who was now looking as if he was going to explode. "Your arrogance will lead you on the road to ruin…"

"It's the pot calling the kettle black!"

"And what about your very clever plans? Who refused to listen to me? Who was arrogant, then?"

"What is your problem?" spat the Khajit, cut to the quick. "Are you really in love with Trencavel, or just a bit vexed because a priest has been quicker than you to put her in his bed?"

"What?!"

"Oh, come on. It is so obvious you have a crush on her!" J'Ghasta carried on as Lucien's face was turning in a nice shade of pink. "If anyone else had treated you the way she had, you would have killed him or her on the spot!"

"Why don't you mind your own business?" said Lucien between gritted teeth, shivering in rage.

"I am actually minding my own business! I mean, look at yourself! You are not able to carry out a simple murder!"

"And you a simple theft, Mister-I-know-it-all!"

"And you know what 'Mister-I-know-it-all' is saying to you?" asked J'Ghasta, letting his impressive claws getting out.

"Oh, I think I can guess… It must be something like 'Hey wait! I have another of my cunning plans'…"

The Khajiit roared in rage and, in a burst of anger, he toppled the table over. Schemer screeched in terror and rushed to hide under the nearest bed.

"Now, someone is really going to have his stupid ass kicked…" hissed J'Ghasta menacingly, jumping over the table and baring his teeth at Lucien. The latter bared his back and, retreating slowly, reached for his sword's hilt…

A series of loud hits on the door interrupted them. Trying to keep an eye on each other, they turned their head toward it.

"If you two are going to fight, and with all due respect," started Ocheeva's muffled voice, "I will ask you to do it _outside_. We have just finished repairing the room from the consequences of Antoinetta's last alchemic experiments…"

"And since when do you listen to the door, Ocheeva?" asked J'Ghasta in indignation.

"She doesn't have to." mumbled Lucien. "You are yelling so much that all Cheydinhall must be aware of what is going on here…"

There was an awkward pause during which the two exchanged a long and very dark look. But at least they relaxed a bit. The worst had been avoided.

"Ok, fine…" said J'Ghasta, massaging his forehead and walking toward a chair. "Let's try to calm down a bit, shall we…?"

He collapsed into the wooden chair and crossed his arms behind his head.

"So, what now?" Lucien finally asked.

"Well, I am going to make my report on the last events to our dear Unholy Matron." replied the Khajiit. "Oh dear, if she was not dead yet, she would have a apoplectic fit…"

J'Ghasta could not suppress a nervous shiver at the thought and Lucien felt almost sorry for him.

"And why is Umbra so important anyway?" he asked again. "We have – I mean, Trencavel has the hourglass, and technically, if used properly, it should be enough to drive Clairvaux soul out of Trencavel's."

"_Technically_, yes." replied J'Ghasta, looking a ceiling with a worried expression on his face. "But we need to find someone competent enough to do that, because honestly, I have no clue on how to do it. And I am not even sure the Night Mother knows either!"

The Khajiit scratched his chin, abandoning himself in the contemplation of the ceiling again.

"Thus Umbra is a kind of… safeguard." he continued, weighing his words carefully. "If for some reason, Trencavel was not able to use the hourglass to separate her soul from Clairvaux's, we may use the sword to make sure the Ankou will never get his soul back…"

"And how would we achieve that?" asked Lucien.

A silence answered him, during which the Listener considered his Speaker carefully.

"You know, I believe you must stay away from all this from now." he finally said "I will handle the matter exclusively with Havilstein Hoar-Blood, Arquen and maybe Shaleez."

"But why?" asked Lucien, completely dazed. "Is that some kind of… reprimand?"

"No, but it is probably better that way. At least, Hoar-Blood and Arquen are not currently dealing with… personal issues."

"But Hoar-Blood could not find his ass with is hands!" exclaimed Lucien angrily. "And I am not even going to bother commenting on Arquen and Shaleez…"

"I have made up my mind, Lucien."

"You can't do that to me!"

"Of course, I can." replied J'Ghasta softly. "I am the Listener of the Black Hand…_ Your_ Listener, remember?"

Lucien gaped, looking like he had just been slapped in the face. Then he closed his eyes and slowly passed his hand into his hair, bursting into a sad and soft laugh.

"Oh yes, _my_ Listener… Oooh, how could have I forgotten about that?"

"Lucien, don't take it so badly…" J'Ghasta sighed.

"Taaah, great Listener!" said Lucien, bowing to the Khajiit ironically. "As you can see, I have decided to follow your advice and to express my feelings. Now, look how disappointed I am to realize that you don't trust me and my loyalty to the Brotherhood anymore!"

J'Ghasta rolled his eyes.

"Please, Lucien…!"

But the Speaker had already left the room.

J'Ghasta gave another sigh and buried his face in his paws. Stupid, stupid fool! Of course he was questioning his loyalty to the Dark Brotherhood! No one was! But the Khajiit preferred not to take the risk to put Lucien in front of a particularly delicate dilemma... Someone had definitely to protect Lucien against himself. And who could handle that job better than his best friend?

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With its cloudless shiny blue sky, odorant flowers, little rivers with fresh and clear water, and very annoying little peeping birds, Mankar Camoran's Paradise was certainly the creepiest place Sigrid's have ever seen – closely followed by Bellamont's cellar.

To those who may have objected that there were probably not many common points between a dark cellar full of rotting corpses and a nice pastoral landscape, Sigrid would have objected that behind Camoran's bucolic debauchery was hiding something much, much darker, a fear that did not say its name, a terror she could read on the face of the Mythic Dawn agents reincarnated to the Paradise – or Gaiar Aleta, as they called it.

Located on a small plan of Oblivion, Gaiar Aleta was the place where Mankar Camoran's devoted followers ended up if they died at his service, gaining the title of "Ascended Immortals". In Sigrid's mind – and probably in Camoran's followers' mind as well - a paradise was supposed to imply… well, eternal beatitude. But this was definitely not the case here. Instead of beatitude, the Ascended Immortals were stuck in an infernal cycle of reincarnations. Constantly being attacked by Daedra, they kept being killed and getting reincarnated here, only to fight more Daedra, and then get killed again…

"_Gosh, this is sick!"_ Sigrid thought as, walking along Gaiar Aleta's cobblestones road, she met another group of dead Mythic Dawn agents being attacked by a couple of Daedroth. One of the giant lizard creatures had jumped on one of its victim's chest, and was starting slowly chewing her head. Sigrid put her hands over her ears not to hear the woman's screams of agony.

"_Agree."_ said the Voice. _"But not that surprising actually, given the fact that Mankie has always been a bit over the top."_

Sigrid raised a mental eyebrow.

"_Mankie?"_

The Voice chuckled.

"_Mankar Camoran's surname."_ it explained. _"Mannimarco gave it to him._ _He thought it was__very funny…"_

"_Ahah…_" Sigrid gave a small ironical chuckle. _"You bunch of maniac mages seemed to have a lot of fun together… You were all having tea every Morndas afternoon, right? Just in between two evil schemes to take over Nirn…"_

"_We were not tea-addicted, but we met more than once…"_ said the Voice mysteriously.

"_You mean you were really friends?"_

"_Well, probably not in the sense you understand it."_ replied the Voice. _"But after all, we were people of the same sensibility, looking all for the same goal…"_

"_And that common 'main goal' was probably the major problem in your… friendship, wasn't it?"_ asked Sigrid, sliding along the slop of a hill and trying to determine where the cobblestones road was leading her to. "_How were you supposed to determine who would rule Tamriel? By fighting against one another, or by organizing some kind of contest, like 'Who wants to be the Best Super-Villain?'". _

"_We were certainly not going to sort that out by drawing straws…"_ acknowledged the Voice.

Sigrid did not reply as other thoughts came to her mind. As soon as she had entered the Paradise, Camoran had started talking to her, his deep voice echoing in the valleys and in the forests of his realm. She did not want to admit it, but his discourse on the true origin of the world had shaken her a lot.

"Tamriel Ae Daedroth", Camoran had said. According to him, Tamriel was a part of Oblivion, the creation and princedom of Lorkhan, who was not a God but a Daedra. And thus Prince Dagon was only claiming what rightfully belonged to him.

Sigrid shivered. Camoran's reasoning sounded so logical. What if he was right? If the Gods weren't what they pretended to be? Sigrid thought of people, who, like Martin Septim, had offered their entire life to the Nine. How would they react if they learnt than Akatosh and the rest had deceived them?

"_It is very important, after all?"_ asked the Voice, who had perceived Sigrid's turmoil.

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Who does really care about who created Nirn and Tamriel and to whom they belong to?"_ continued the Voice. _"Apart from loony Mankie, I mean…"_

"_I am not sure to understand you there…"_ said Sigrid, frowning.

"_Well, Nirn is there, right? It exists, independently of its creator - whoever it is! And it doesn't have anybody's name written over it, so, according to me, it simply belongs to whomever live there, that is to say to us, poor mortals."_

"_And… what about the Gods?"_

"_Again, who cares?"_ giggled the Voice. _"They don't seem to bother much with what is happening in Nirn…So why should we bother about them?"_

There was a pause.

"_You know," _started Sigrid_, "sometime what you are saying is so sensible it really gets annoying…"_

"_Roooh, was that a compliment?"_

"_It well may be, yes…"_

And trying to close her mind to the screams of the Ascended Immortals confronted to their eternal cycle of pain and sufferance, Sigrid disappeared into the Paradise, searching for Mankar Camoran and the Amulet of Kings.

77777777777777777

Lucien was going to do something really, _really_ stupid. And he perfectly knew it, but he could not help.

"_Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior."_ Slipping silently in the streets of Cheydinhall, Lucien smiled despite himself as he remembered one of the five tenets. He was blatantly disobeying a direct order from a superior, and thus was risking invoking the wrath of Sithis. As well as J'Ghasta's, actually.

A sudden feeling of anger surged in his chest when he thought of the Khajit. How dared he? How _dared _he having doubt as to his loyalty and faith in the Dark Brotherhood?

The Brotherhood was everything to him. And questioning his fidelity to the organization was only opening again the psychological wounds left by the "Bellamont episode", when everybody in the Black Hand was convinced he was the traitor. Well, except for J'Ghasta and Trencavel…

Lucien had a twinge of sorrow. He still hadn't worked out what his exact feelings for Sigrid were, but he decided to keep the question away from his mind for the moment and to focus on Foulques Montfort instead.

A very nasty sneer appeared on the Speaker's face when the Breton boy's face materialized in his head, and a well-known feeling started rising in his chest. The feeling of hatred. At least, you knew were to stand with abhorrence. You could rely on hate. It was solid, almost tangible, you could feel its taste in your mouth, whereas love… But he would show them. He would kill that awful bastard of Foulques, retrieve Umbra and no one would ever dare questioning his loyalty to the Brotherhood, the Black Hand and Sithis!

Absorbed in his thoughts, Lucien had not realized he was now in the stables outside the city of Cheydinhall. He looked around and frowned, slightly worried. He had left Shadowmere at the Black Waterside stables this morning, but he can't see her anywhere…

He turned brusquely around when he felt something moving behind his back. He carefully drew his sword.

"I know you are there." he whispered; his eyes scanning the darkest corners of the room. "So, if you don't want to get hurt, you'd better show your face…"

He had not finished his sentence than he found himself pinned on the ground in less than a heart beat, with something weighing heavily on his back, arms and legs.

"Good evening, Speaker." said a very familiar voice. "Enjoying a nice little walk in the moonlight?"

Lucien raised his head as a figure was getting out of the shadow and his jaw dropped when he recognized…

"_Ocheeva?"_ he asked in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"We are here to help you, Speaker."

"We?"

Lucien craned his neck to look backward at what - or rather, who - was standing on his back.

"You?" he roared, when he finally identified M'raaj-Dar, Talendril and Antoinetta Marie. "Get out off me, right now!"

"I am afraid we can't, Speaker." said M'raaj-Dar, looking really sorry.

"This is insubordination! I will refer to the Listener and…!"

"We are actually obeying the most honorable Listener's orders, Speaker." Ocheeva interrupted him softly. "And he was very clear. You are not allowed to leave the Sanctuary without his authorization."

Lucien expressed in colorful terms all the good he thought of the most honorable Listener's orders.

"I guess that mean you won't follow us back to the sanctuary on your own will?" sighed Ocheeva.

"Help! Help!" yelled Lucien. "I am being attacked! Hel…!"

Two hands clapped quickly over his mouth, muffling his screams.

"Now, that was not a really nice thing to do, Speaker." said Antoinetta reproachfully as she looked around, worried. But fortunately, it seemed that no one had heard Lucien's shouts.

Ocheeva kneeled near Lucien and put her face very close to his. Still contorting to free himself, he shot her a look of pure loathing.

"I am really sorry for that, Speaker." she said, shaking her head. "But you leave us with no other choice… M'raaj-Dar, please…"

Lucien's eyes widened in surprise and pain as he felt like his head was going to explode.

And everything went black.

**1** Er, literally, "pompous arsehole". I made than one up (with the help of the Vampire Apple), and as you can see, I am putting my complete lack of grasp of Latin/Imperialin grammar on the count of that poor Ontus Vanin…Gosh, I am such an arsehole myself…


	17. Almost over or not ?

**Chapter 17**

**Wow, two chapters in less than a week! Go me!**

**The Elder Scrolls are just so full of very interesting characters, and it is the case with Oblivion. There is Lucien Lachance and Martin of course, but also Chancellor Ocato, Hannibal Traven… Many of them can capture you imagination easily.**

**At the moment, I am having my "vampire" period, and I am craving for fanfics about Hassildor or Valtieri. I have not been able to find many of them, but fortunately today I came across a very interesting one-shot entitled "A Good man", by ****Uilleand****, which actually can be found on I strongly encourage you to read it. :P**

**Now, on this chapter. **

**I have been dreading writing its third part. Describing emotional scenes (as well as battle scenes) are definitely not my strongest point. Sadly for me, there are going to a lot of those in the few chapters to come. XD**

**The first and the fourth part were the funniest to write. Actually, I completely went of the rails.**

**Ah well, nevermind…**

77777777777777777

Hands stuffed in his pockets and his hood and mask still carefully covering his head and his face, Vicente Valtieri was wandering through the Cloud Ruler Temple, trying to divert his mind by contemplating the very particular architecture of the building. It was now Martin's turn to make sure the Oblivion Gate to Camoran's paradise was fed with enough magical force to remain open, and the vampire was feeling a bit at loose end.

After a while, Vicente finally arrived in the East wing of the Temple – the one sheltering the library – which appeared to by very busy. Some of the Blades had gathered here, as well as Countess Nirana Carvain and Captain Burd and a few of his guards, all talking quietly in a corner of the room. Scanning the rest of the library, Vicente quickly identified two well-known figures, sitting in the opposite corner. Smiling, the vampire walked toward Teinaava and Gogron.

The Argonian was reading, looking very concentrated. He was still limping a bit from the wound he received during the battle of Bruma, but apart from that, it seemed he was cured. As for Gogron, he had recovered in a record time and was as fit as a fiddle – as shown by the three empty beer kegs left at his side.

"Still no news from Sigrid?" asked Teinaava as Vicente collapsed on the bench near to Gogron with a weary sigh.

"No." said the vampire. "Nothing, I am afraid."

"And, er… Do you think it is a good or a bad thing?"

"I am not quite sure…" replied Vicente carefully.

"She has been gone for two days now…" pointed out Gogron.

The vampire shrugged.

"It doesn't mean anything… Time may fly by differently in Camoran's Paradise. Perhaps, a minute there correspond to one day in our dimension…"

Gorgon shot him a puzzled look and Vicente tried to look as unconcerned as possible, even if he was started to feel really worried now. Those two days had been among the longest and the most tiring he had ever experienced, not because feeding the gate with magical energy was an extremely exhausting exercise – it was – but because waiting for any sign from Sigrid was basically killing him.

"So, all we can do now is waiting for Sigrid to get out of that fucking Oblivion dimension, even if it is going to be in ten years or so?" groaned the Orc as if he had read his thoughts.

"Basically, this is what_ I_ am going to do. But you two won't have to stay here. I would like you to leave the Temple as soon as possible."

Gogron burped hugely.

"Oh, why? The food and the beer are good here!"

"And they have a first-class library." added Teinaava.

Vicente replied nothing, but made a discreet gesture in the direction of Jauffre, who had just entered the room. Teinaava, who had followed the vampire's move, winced.

"Ah yes, I see." whispered the Argonian.

"The Grandmaster doesn't seem to like us much…" observed Gogron.

Jauffre walked toward the Countess and Captain Burd and started talking with them, but not without having shot a glance full of animosity to the trio.

"No, he doesn't, and I don't want to wait until we find out why." replied the vampire. "That's why you are going to go back to the Sanctuary and let Lucien and Ocheeva know about what's going on here."

"What about you?" asked the Orc, between two gulps of beer.

"As I said, I am going to stay here until Sigrid decides to get out of the Paradise."

"_And if she has not come back by tonight, I will go there myself to find her as well as that stupid Amulet of Kings." _he thought.

"Then, I will pay a visit to an old friend," continued Vicente in a thoughtful voice, "and afterward, I will drop quickly at the Sanctuary."

He interrupted himself as the Grandmaster of the blade was now approaching their little group. Jauffre was trying to look relaxed and friendly, but unfortunately, the way his hand was mechanically playing with the hilt of his sabre was ruining all his efforts.

"So, chilling out, are you?"

"As you can see, Jauffre." said Vicente very neutrally.

"Captain Burd and I were wondering if we would ever have the pleasure to see your face one day, Vicente." continued Jauffre with a cheerfulness that sounded completely out of tune.

Teinaava stiffened, his instinct telling him that the Grandmaster had not only come here to have a friendly chat and Gogron, whose intuition was probably as sharp as his Argonian friend, was now watching Jauffre between narrow eyes.

"I don't think so, Grandmaster." replied the vampire serenely.

"Why not? Some may think you have something to hide, my friend."

Jauffre's mouth was smiling, but his eyes were as cold as ice.

"And actually, they may be right, Jauffre, but to be honest, I absolutely don't care about what they may or may not think…"

"So, you would not take your mask and hood off, even if I ask you to do so?"

"Probably not."

There was a pause.

"Take your hood off." Jauffre demanded. This time, he was not smiling anymore.

Another pause, a bit longer this time, followed the Grandmaster's order. No sound could be heard, apart from the cracklings of the fire burning in the hearth. Everybody in the room was now watching at Jauffre and Vicente, who themselves were glaring at one another.

After a while, and keeping his eyes riveted on the Blade Master, the vampire slowly started to untie the knots that were holding his mask into place.

"Ah, well, if you are asking me so nicely…"

And in a theatrical move, Vicente took his mask and hood off.

He heard the audience gasping. Burd and the guards present in the room immediately jumped in front of the Countess in a protective move while the Blades gathered around Jauffre, hands on their swords' hilt. Behind Vicente, Teinaava moaned and buried his face in his hands, while Gogron got up and walked toward his axe which was resting against the wall, humming happily 'there will be one hell of a row…'

"A vampire…" Jauffre hissed, his face contorted in a grimace of both surprise and disgust. He took his katana out, and pointed it on Vicente as he retreated. "You are a bloody vampire...!" **1**

"Yes, Grandmaster of the Blades. A_ bloody_ vampire, I am!" scoffed Valtieri, apparently taking great pleasure in exposing his fangs. "And I would stop brandishing that Katana like that if I were you - we don't anybody to get hurt…"

"Do we?" asked Gogron, smiling nastily and getting into guard.

"Blades!" yelled Jauffre.

As one man, the Blades unsheathed their weapons. Teinaava, who had remained sat until then, finally stood up and took place at Gogron's side with a resigned look on his face.

"Cant' we have some peace for a _minute_?" he mumbled, infuriated. "I did not have the time to finish reading my chapter…"

The two camps were observing each other like cats, apparently waiting for their respective opponents to make the first move. Nobody really seemed to be in a hurry, though. Sure, the Blades outnumbered the members of the Cheydinhall sanctuary, but they did not seem very excited about battling a half-drunk Orc and a vampire who was grinning from ear to ear – with all the nasty things that was implying as far as a vampire was concerned…

"I hope you are not intending to spill blood here…" said a soft voice suddenly. "We are, after all, in temple."

All the heads turned toward the sound of the voice. Martin Septim was standing in the doorway, arms crossed on his chest, looking both very annoyed and tired.

"Indeed, your Highness!" Jauffre shrieked, once he had recovered from his surprise. "And look at what Trencavel has dared to bring to this holy place! A _vampire_!"

Martin's eyes rested a few seconds on Vicente Valtieri, carefully scanning his face. If he was surprised, he did not show any sign of it.

"I see." he said simply.

"Shall we kill him, your Highness?"

"No." said Martin.

Jauffre'eyes popped out.

"He is a vampire! A filthy son of Vivec and Molag Bal!"

"I know Jauffre. I got the concept, thank you." replied Martin, still very calm.

Vicente and the heir of the Septim throne looked on another up and down for a few seconds.

"But vampire or not," continued Martin, "Valtieri has proved to be a reliable ally."

The vampire retained a smile. _"A reliable ally, yes _–_ and you don't want to take the risk to piss off Sigrid, do you?"_

"Your Highness, I must insist, he is…"

Martin gave a sigh and passed his hand on his face.

"Grandmaster, my Highness knows how much it owes you… If I am still alive, it is very likely thanks to you. But now, I am going to ask you to shut up, because you are seriously getting on my nerves…"

Jauffre looked like he had been punch in the stomach, and again, Vicente curbed his urge to chuckle. Sithis, he was almost feeling sorry for the Grandmaster… Under his shy, humble, "oh-I-am-such-an-inoffensive-priest" look, Martin Septim was actually not harmless at all. He had this ability to make people follow him, to make them share his vision - a talent usually shared by born leaders. Too bad, really, for those who had hoped to be able to manipulate Martin. The vampire wished them good luck…

"Honestly, don't you all think we have more serious thing to worry about?" asked Martin to the audience at large. "Sigrid Trencavel is in Camoran's paradise, risking her life, and we are all here, arguing stupidly."

"Er, actually, talking about Sigrid…" started Teinaava, who stopped as he realised he was now the centre of attention.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, coughing nervously, "but I just wanted to know _who_ exactly is in charge of keeping the Gate to the Paradise open, given the fact that you are all three here…?"

An appalled silence fell in the room. Martin, Jauffre and Vicente looked at one another, awestruck.

"Oh no…" whispered Martin, just before he broke into a run, quickly followed by Jauffre, Vicente, Gogron, Teinaava, Countess Carvain, Burd and the rest of the guards and Blades.

"How could that have happened?" roared Valtieri at Martin. "I thought you were in charge of the gate!"

"I was, but I asked the Grandmaster to relay me for a while!"

"I did, but then you came back." said Jauffre.

"I did not!" protested Martin.

"Stop arguing, you idiots, and run!" spat Countess Nirana Carvain.

She was holding the lowest part of her robes above her knees to run faster, showing as a result large parts of her shapely calves, to Captain Burd's greatest pleasure.

Finally, after having rushed through the Temple corridors, the entire troop arrived in the Great Hall, panting.

"Oh no! The gate!" exclaimed Carvain in horror.

In the centre of the room, the gate, which had been looking like a huge and fiery circle, was now reduced to a little shining ball, floating in midair.

"It might not be too late!" yelled Vicente. "Martin! Jauffre! Take place onto the pentacle! We may still be able to…"

A roaring sound interrupted him. The little shining ball had started whirling on itself, faster and faster, producing an electric field around it.

"By the Nine, what is going on?" yelled someone.

"Careful!" Burd shouted.

There was a flash of light and a terrible sound of explosion. All the persons standing in the room were swept away by a very hot and dusty blast, while the walls of the venerable Temple trembled on their bases. And suddenly, everything went dark.

"Open the doors!" shouted Jauffre, somewhere in the middle of the cloud of black ashes which had filled the room. "Or we are all going to suffocate in there!"

Coughing, Burd and two other guards managed to find the doors and opened them quickly. The cloud slowly started to dissipate and revealed Sigrid Trencavel, who was standing among the rubbles on shaky legs. She was covered in ashes, blood and a bit of smoke was rising from her. She looked around and blinked, as if she had troubles realising she was back on Nirn.

"Sigrid!" exclaimed Martin sounding both cheerful and incredibly relieved.

He jumped over the rubbles that have pilled around her and gave her a bear hug. Everybody in the room heard distinctly several of Sigrid's ribs creaking.

"Hey, I am supposed to be the one doing that!" complained Gogron.

"Hello there…" muttered Sigrid, leaning heavily on Martin's shoulder. "Gosh what a mess here… And where is that awful smell of burnt coming from?"

"From you, I am afraid." said Valtieri, who had materialised just behind her. "Don't move, we are going to fetch a healer…"

But he did not get the time to say more, as he was quickly set aside by the Grandmaster of the Blades.

"The Amulet?" asked Jauffre, grabbing Sigrid by the collar of her armour and shaking her. "Do you have the Amulet? Where is it?"

"Jauffre!" Martin protested, pushing him back violently. "Are you mad?"

Sigrid shot the Grandmaster an empty look. She then held out her right hand, and, slowly opening her fingers, revealed the Amulet of Kings which was resting in her hand, shining softly.

"Here is your fucking trinket…" she said unenthusiastically.

Jauffre snatched the Amulet from her hand and raised it at eyes level.

"I can't believe it…" he whispered, almost in tears, running one of his fingers lovingly along the Amulet red jewel. "We have it…"

He turned toward the audience, his face radiant with joy and brandishing the Amulet over his head.

"Blades! The Amulets of Kings is ours!" he shouted, his voice covering the sounds of the cheers which started to ring out in the hall as a result of his announcement. "The Emperor is back, the Dragonfires will be relighted and Merhunes Dagon defeated!"

The crowd of guards and Blades continued to cheer, and some started to shout "Hail Martin Septim!"

"And now, if no one minds," said Sigrid in a weary voice, "I think I am going to faint…"

And matching her action with her words, she collapsed in Martin's arms, inert.

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Foulques was standing in his room, looking through his window down at the courtyard in which many servants were actively loading horses and mules with heavy trunks, when someone interrupted is daydreaming by giving a polite cough behind him.

"Yes?" said Foulques, still staring through the window.

"We are almost ready, Master."

"Good."

A pause. Foulques sighed and turned around. His green eyes riveted on Yohan. The young man was still standing in the doorway, looking slightly discomfited and dancing from one foot to another.

"Yes, Evoker?" Foulques asked politely yet coldly. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Well, er, aren't you going with Master Mahaut and the rest of us to Cheydinhall, Master Foulques?"

Montfort smiled and turned back toward the window. Mahaut had just entered the courtyard and started giving orders to the servants. She then turned toward the manor, and her eyes fall on the window from which his brother was observing her. Her expression became icy and she turned round, swiftly walking toward her horse.

"Hmm, no, Evoker Yohan." said Foulques flatly. "My sister thinks my presence at her side is not… required."

Yohan prudently remained quiet. Since Foulques had brought Umbra back and the incident that had occurred the other night, the relations between the Montfort siblings were not at there best…

"Of you go now." continued Montfort. "You will be in charge of my sister's safety, so don't disappoint me…"

"No master!" exclaimed Yohan, executing a perfect military salute.

"_Poor idiot, if only you knew how much I don't care_…" he thought as he watched the small troop leaving the courtyard.

It was true. Foulques did not care anymore. He had more important things in mind now. Hannibal Traven's men had come earlier this morning to retrieve Umbra and put it in a safe location – apparently the Archmage was dreading another attack from the Dark Brotherhood.

Foulques smiled. They could hide it wherever they wanted to – in Oblivion, in the furthest Ayleid ruins… – nothing would stop him from regaining the sword. And whoever would stand in his way, he would break him or her.

His smiled grew wider and nastier at the thought. Actually, he was hoping that someone would stand in his way. Indeed, it would be so nice to see Lucien Lachance again and have a nice little chat with him – well, Foulques would do the chatting part. As for Lucien, he would make sure he is too busy yelling in agony to speak…

But for now, Foulques had to wait for the favourable moment. Umbra had told him to be patient. So he will be.

And they would be reunited soon.

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What Sigrid really hated about fainting was that your coming up was often quickly followed by a huge headache, and in some case, by some very, very unpleasant surprises… But for the moment, all the elements of her environment she was able to perceive did not seem to be particularly threatening… Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and immediately recognised the familiar environment of Martin's bedroom in the Could Ruler Temple.

"Ah, you are finally awaken, you dormouse!" said Baurus' voice cheerfully somewhere on her right.

Sigrid turned her head in the voice's direction and fall face to face with the Redguard. He was kneeling by the bed, beaming at her.

"Wait a second, I need to warn Martin."

Baurus quickly got up on his feet and cupped his hands round his mouth.

"Maaaaaaaartin! Sigrid is aaawaaaaaaaake!" he shouted.

The girl winced as Baurus's voice painfully echoed in her head.

"Baurus…" she mumbled. "Would you mind stop yelling like that? I feel like my head is going to explode…"

"Oh, sorry, my friend." he said, looking a bit confused. He then beamed at her again and patted her on the shoulder. "You know, I am really happy to see you again. You scared the shit out of everyone when you passed out. Poor Martin was all worked up…"

Baurus had just finishing saying this that the bedroom door burst out open and Martin stormed in.

"Sigrid!" he exclaimed, his face expressing sheer anxiety. "Are you all right? Are you still suffering? Do you want me to fetch the healer?"

Saying this, he literally jumped at bed side, and kneeling by her, he took her hands in his.

"Please, tell me what you need!"

"Er…" said the girl, rather taken aback.

"I think I'd better leave you two, right?" asked Baurus with a large knowing grin. "You must have a lot to say to each other…"

The Redguard winked at them before he left the room and Sigrid did her best not to roll her eyes in annoyance.

"So, how do you feel?" asked Martin in a concerned voice once Baurus had left.

"Not too bad…" Sigrid replied, freeing her hands from Martin's grip and scratching her head. Apparently, she had been cured from her major wounds, and was just feeling a bit dizzy. "For how long have I stayed unconscious?"

"Two days."

Sigrid frowned as a thought suddenly crossed her mind.

"Where is Vicente? And Teinaava and Gogron?"

"They left yesterday, but not without making sure you were fine… You know, they seem to be very attached to you." said Martin with a smile.

Sigrid did not bother to wonder what Martin's little smile meant. Her eyes narrowed as she examined him closely. There was something… different about him.

"Er, what is that you are wearing?" she asked, a bit dumfounded at the sight of Martin dressed in scarlet robes. Around his neck was shining the Amulet of Kings. Sigrid had never seen Martin wearing anything except his blue set of Akatosh's priest robes – or more recently, his Dragon armour during the battle of Bruma.

"Well, it is the Imperial dress, you see." Martin explained, sounding suddenly very embarrassed. "Jauffre wanted me to wear it, now I have the Amulet and all... Do you like it?" He stood, left his arms up and started to turn round himself for the girl to admire him.

There was an awkward pause, during which Sigrid tried to find something tactful to say. She failed deplorably.

"Er, no." she finally said. "Sorry, but I can't say I like it."

Martin's arms lamentably felt back down, and, with a heavy sigh, he collapsed on the bed near her, looking quite demoralised now.

"You are right," he muttered, trying to untie the knot of his scarlet and ermine cloak, "I look like a complete twit. I am not worth becoming an Emperor."

And he threw the cloak angrily on the floor.

"What?" asked Sigrid, looking, bemused, at the piece of clothes on the floor. "What are you talking about?"

Martin's face was now wearing a very dark expression.

"I would not be able to pretend to the title of Emperor if you had not been there…" he said, shaking his head sadly. "Actually, I would not be anything without you."

And without any warning, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. But this time, it was not the embrace of a passionate lover, like the one he gave on Bruma's battlefield. Rather, it was the one of a distressed, lost man, who was desperately trying to cling at something - or rather, someone...

"Martin?" asked Sigrid, slightly alarmed. "What's wrong?"

He did not reply immediately. Rather, he buried his face a little deeper in the hollow of her shoulder, breathing heavily. Sigrid could feel his breath filtering through the fabric of her shirt.

"Don't do that to me ever again." he whispered in her neck. "The four last days have been the longest of my life…Don't leave me again. Ever."

Speechless, her throat knot with emotion, Sigrid gulped. All she found herself able to do was hugging him back, slowly stroking his long and soft brown hair.

"Oh, Akatosh forgives me," Martin continued, "but I would have given everything up – the Empire, my life – everything! to be at your side to confront and fight Camoran… And to tell you what I should have told you days, even months ago..."

He loosened his embrace and carefully took her face in his hands.

"I love you Sigrid Trencavel." he whispered. "I loved you since you have entered the Chapel of Akatosh that day and risked your life to save my companions and me."

"Martin." Sigrid managed to articulate, despite the knot still stuck in her throat. "My love. My Emperor…"

She was not sure how much time they spent looking at each other in the eyes, but after a while, she freed her face from his hands, and bending forward him, tried to give him a kiss. Martin's eyes opened wide in surprise and he started back.

Sigrid frowned and had a small chuckle as she stroke his cheek with her fingertips

"Oh, please Martin, don't tell me I am going to have to close another Great Gate to have you kissing me… Or more."

Martin turned very red in the face at the words. Decided not to let her being disturbed by his obvious trouble, Sigrid bent forward once more. But this time, Martin did not retreat. She started kissing his lips softly and taking his wrists, she guided his hands from her hips to the upper part of her chest. He was kind of uncertain first, but finally resigned and gave a deep sigh when his hands finally reached her breasts.

"And now, what if we get rid of those awful robes?" she whispered with a smile.

Outside, the snow started to fall.

777777777777777777

Count Janus Hassildor of Skingrad was enjoying a nice evening reading by the fire, in his room. At his feet, his beloved pet dog Furball was sleeping in his basket, four legs in the air and snoring loudly. Outside the castle, the storm was raging, rain was hitting the windows and the standards of the Hassildor family were flying madly in the wind.

Hassildor of Skingrad was probably one of the most secretive of the high nobles of Cyrodiil, if not Tamriel. Very little was known about him. Indeed, the Count was exceptionally discreet: he made very few public appearances and didn't even conform to the sacrosanct ritual of public audiences.

Some people said Janus Hassildor was very shy, others than he was just a very posh bastard who scorned the masses he ruled. But many murmured that the Count was in fact very sick, suffering from some kind of terrible and incurable disease…

Ironically, the third rumour was probably the closest to the truth as the Count of Skingrad had indeed contracted a disease called "porphyric hemophilia". To be clearer, Count Janus Hassildor was a vampire – or rather, a _bloody_ vampire, as Grandmaster Jauffre would have said.**3**

As a result, and in order to avoid having crowds of angry peasants armed with pitchforks and torches trampling onto his well clipped grass and hammering at the castle's door while asking for his head on a pike, the Count had decided to lead a rather cloistered life. Which did not prevented him to rule his county with a firm hand and to carefully follow the political situation in the Empire. Hassildor had eyes and ears everywhere.

A log creaked in the fire. The Count stood up and poked the hearth while shooting a look at the impressive and very rare Dwemer artefact that was standing against the wall behind him. It was a present of a friend who used to travel a lot, especially around Morrowind – the very person he was currently waiting for, actually.

This wonderful Dwemer creation – the Count, ignoring its original name, had decided to call it the "Whatsit" – had the power to show what time it was, thanks to a very cunning system of cogwheels which put into motion two needles – a small one indicating the minutes and the big one the hours – on a dial numbered from one to twelve. In addition, every hour, the Whatsit was ringing and setting into action a series of funny little mechanical puppets.

And as it was now ten o'clock, the mechanism set off. A deep _boing_! noise started to echoed in the room, and a small door opened on one side of the Whatsit. Three little puppets appeared, representing a Chimer and two Dwemers, the latter surrounding their mortal enemy and banging repeatedly on his head with their two tiny little hammers.

"Whirf?" suddenly barked Furball, opening one eye.

The little dog then pricked up his ears, and jumping on his short legs, ran toward the window, yapping happily at it.

Hassildor winced at the sight of a dash of Furball's slaver maculating his very rare set of Elseweyrian carpets. The poor dog was affected by a terrible proclivity to drool a lot when exited, which made the Count's servants think he was the secret owner of a very badly-behaved breeding of slugs.

"Hush, Furball!" said Hassildor, pushing the dog aside with one foot and opening the window. "Good evening, Vicente. Very punctual, as usual."

"Greetings, Janus." replied the hooded and soaking-wet silhouette, getting through the window.

Vicente carefully stepped on the carpets and took his rain cloak off. He then closed the window and bent forward the little dog that was still barking and jumping merrily around him.

"Oh, hello, Slobberball!" said Vicente, patting the dog on the head. "How are you today?" Furball showed his affection for the vampire by slobbering twice more on his boots.

"His name is Furball." corrected the Count mechanically, walking toward his drinking cabinet. "Would you like something to drink? A Bloody Mary, perhaps?" he added, uncorking a bottle which contained a dark and thick dark red liquid.

"Depends on the kind you are talking about…"

Hassildor smiled and his red iris started to glow.

"Well, the kind we both have learnt to appreciate, my vampiric friend." **2** replied the Count, pouring Vicente a glass and holding the cup to him.

Vicente took it and made the liquid turning into the recipient before taking a small sip.

"Hmmm, not bad." he said, raising his glass in the light to take a better look at beverage's colour.

"Well, I think you have not only come here to give me your opinion on my cellar…" started Hassildor.

"No, and from what I have understood, you said in your last letter that you had found the exact person I was looking for…"

"Oh yes, I think you are going to be quite pleased, Vicente. I have found the perfect person to help you with your little… necromantic issue…"

"Oh, so you finally decided to ask Mercator Hosidus, your steward?" asked Vicente, surprised. "The one who is a necromancer and who is plotting your demise as well as helping his master Mannimarco to take over Nirn?"

The Count rolled his eyes.

"Of course I did not! That would have killed him. The poor sod is taking so much pleasure thinking he is outsmarting me…" Hassildor sniffed in a scornful way and pulled on one of the candelabra hung on the wall. A secret door opened silently in a cloud of dust. "But I have been able to corrupt some of his… acquaintances to gain the piece of information you and I were looking for…"

The two vampires crossed the secret door and started walking down the long, humid and dark stairs, closely followed by Furball. After a while, they finally arrived in the very foundations of the castle of Skingrad.

The place was not completely dark as some signs were glowing softly on the walls. Few people knew it, but the castle had been built out of ancient Aleyd ruins stones, and some of its magic was still haunting the building.

After a few more minutes walking, they finally reached a black metallic door Hassildor opened with an equally metallic black key. Inside, the atmosphere was much cosier than in the cold and humid corridors.

Janus Hassildor's secret laboratory was a wonderful place. The walls of the room were covered in paintings, most of them being masterpieces and from the ceiling here hanging some models of birds and other strange flying creatures.

"Now, where did I put that stupid scroll?" mumbled Hassildor, ruffling trough a pile of papers.

While the Count was searching for his piece of parchment, Vicente was inspecting carefully a row of jars containing strange specimens of the fauna and flora of Tamriel. He was ready to swear than, at least once or twice, the contents of the jars glared back at him...

"Ah, here it is!" exclaimed the Count.

He walked toward Valtieri and handed him a piece of sealed parchments.

"The mage who may be able to help you is called Aulius Scribonius and lives in the Imperial City." said the Count. "One my most trusted men have already approached him and arranged a meeting with you to discuss the details of his, er… intervention."

Vicente took the parchment, opened it and started to read.

"This guy is a mad, old thing, but very, very competent." continued Hassildor. "The thing is, he is also very expensive, so if you need me to lend you a few Septims…"

"Thank you, Janus. You are a true friend." smiled Vicente "But I must decline your offer."

The Count shrugged.

"As you wish." he said. He knew it was perfectly useless to try to insist, so he decided to change of subject. "Anyway, in your message, you mentioned you needed to see a very talented necromancer in order to help a friend… May I ask you who this person who deserves your help is?"

Vicente Valtieri cleared his throat, suddenly looking ill-at-ease.

"It is er,… Sigrid Trencavel, the great-daughter of… Rivanone Trencavel."

The Count raised an eyebrow.

"Ah…I see." he said with a little smile on his face. "Is that true that Martin Septim and she are very… intimate?"

Vicente looked Aetheriusward.

"You just love you gossip, don't you…"

"Yes," chucked Hassildor. Then his face suddenly became serious again "But it is not only that, Vicente. There is a lot of… political turmoil going on, now Septim has officially claimed the Imperial throne of Tamriel as his… "

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Martin's ability to wear the Amulet proves he is a true Septim, hence that he can claim the throne. But I don't think Ocato and the other nobles of Tamriel are very ecstatic at the prospect, you see."

Vicente frowned and mentally took note of the information. It was, actually, very important and rather disturbing.

"Do you have any idea of what is going on?"

The Count made a pout.

"I am not quite sure yet, but I think that they were more or less planning to dismember the Empire in order to rule their little places as they wish…" he sighed. "Anyway, Ocato had convoked the Council of the Elders. So we should be able to find out soon what they have up in mind…"

The Count interrupted himself as he heard a loud noise, like something very heavy – and very expensive– being broken, quickly followed by a _yelp!_ whimper.

"And now my friend, you will excuse me if I don't see you back to the door, but I have a few cleaning to do, as I think Furball has messed up with my collection of Akaviri porcelain _again_…"

**1** I know. It was an easy joke. But I could not resist…

**2** Another easy joke, and with the word "bloody" again. I am in great form!

**3** Oooops…


	18. Declarations

**Chapter 18**

**First, I would like to apologise for the delay. The last few weeks had been completely crazy, and I haven't managed to find the time to write. :S Plus, it is the longest chapter I have ever written. When I think it was supposed to be a short one...  
**

**Ok, this is basically the last "calm chapter" of the story. The next ones will be a lot more eventful, bwahahah…! **

**Although, there are quite a lot of rows into this one… ;)  
**

77777777777777

The daily market was currently taking place in Cheydinhal, and the city's inhabitants were far too busy to pay attention anymore to the strange abandoned house which was standing in one of the streets, looking like some kind of huge sleeping cat.

To tell the truth, people had stopped taking interest into the house a long time ago, which was a very good thing, actually, because the house was an entrance to one of the secret sanctuaries belonging to the feared and merciless Dark Brotherhood. They said curiosity killed the cat, but in the case of the Brotherhood, it also opened its belly with a very sharp knife before strangling it and throwing it into the city's pond with weights tied to its paws…

"Well, this is quite worrying indeed." said a voice, echoing under the stoned vault of the cave built under the abandoned house.

"_Quite_worrying? He has been out for the count for _four days_ now!" replied a second voice.

Voices. Somewhere. "A_ngry and concerned voice..."_ Lucien corrected himself. Actually, these voices sounded very… familiar. He knew he had heard them before but he could not remember exactly where…

"You said we needed something to knock him off." protested a third voice, which sounded a bit like a growl. "And given the fact that our beloved Speaker is quite, er… robust, I had to use the appropriate treatment."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" interrupted the first voice suspiciously.

"Well, I employed a curse very popular in Elseweyr. One we employ to knock out elephants when we hunt them…"

"_What?!"_

Like Sigrid, Lucien was not greatly enthusiastic about waking up after having passed out, especially when he could remember exactly _why_ he had passed out... He had a few bad experiences before, the worst probably being the one that had implied a pretty boozy party, a pot of honey, J'Ghasta and a dark tale about stairs…

At the thought, Lucien immediately put his hands into motion. One started to pat the other side of the bed while the other slipped slowly toward his hips. He quietly sighed in relief when he realised that a) he was alone in the bed, b) still wearing his pants and c) only his head was aching this time. **1**

"I still not have really quite understood why you had to knock him off…"

Ah. Another voice Lucien had not heard before. The place seemed to be very busy.

"Because we did not have the choice, you stupid Orc! He had to stay in the Sanctuary, and he was not exactly willing to!"

"Hey, don't call me stupid, you… stupid Bosmer!"

"And I don't even want to think about what the Listener is going to say…" moaned Voice One, ignoring the two former voices that were now having a row.

"With all due respect, Ocheeva, and as far as I am concerned, J'Ghasta can get stuffed!" spat Voice Three. "I mean, first, he asks us to do the dirty job and then he leaves us alone to deal with the aftermath!"

The voices continued to argue, but Lucien was not paying attention anymore. _Ocheeva_… _J'Ghasta_… _The Listener_… The three words, which he had ignored before, started to spin into his head, slowly first, then faster and faster until they collided and…

"_J'Ghasta_!" Lucien roared, sitting up right on the bed.

He blinked and found himself facing the members of the Cheydinhall sanctuary - from Ocheeva to Gogron - who had all gathered in Vicente Valtieri's room and who were now glaring at him, looking both worried and relieved. But possibly more worried than relieved…

"Oh, er, hello Speaker!" said M'raaj-Dar, forcing a smile.

Lucien's eyes stopped scanning rest of the audience and fixed on the Khajit as soon as he spoke. The latter gulped and his smile became even tenser while the metaphorical temperature dropped by five degrees.

"All right, I am out of here…" muttered Gogron, walking slowly back toward the door.

"That's a _freaking_ good idea, man…" said Teinaava, imitating him.

But they never had the time to get out. With a phenomenal bound - which definitely comforted everyone on his state of health - Lucien had jumped forward, making all the assassins fleeing in panic toward the exit door. All, except Ocheeva.

There was a metallic noise and, for a quarter of a second, Lucien looked like he was floating in mid air. But physic laws returned to the attack and he felt a violent pain in his left shoulder before he found himself landing flat on his back, his head hitting the ground violently.

"May the Night Mother helps us all…" moaned Antoinetta, hidden behind Gorgon along with Telaendril and looking at Lucien who was cursing and rubbing his head with both hands. "We are dead."

"What the…?" Lucien grunted.

He sat up, still rubbing his bruised head and looking quite confused. His eyes focused on something long and black dancing in front of his eyes. And he got the answer to his question.

"A _chain_?" he whispered in disbelief.

His left wrist was handcuffed, and a chain made of black metal was linking him to the wall. There was a very long and awkward pause, and all the Cheydinhall's assassins wished they were somewhere else…._ Anywhere_ else actually, as long as it would allow them to put hundred of miles between them and their livid Speaker.

"Who dared to do that?" Lucien continued, in a very low and threatening voice.

His apparent serenity was even more frightening than a good outburst. There was a small pause, during which everybody in the room pondered over the best answer to give him. Finally, forming a harmonious whole, all fingers pointed at Ocheeva.

"Thanks a lot for the support, guys." the latter hissed darkly.

"_You_ chained me to the wall" Lucien asked her angrily.

Along with resentment, Ocheeva noticed a painful note in his voice, and if she had not feared for her life, she would almost have felt sorry for him.

"Yes I did, Speaker. And there is no need to look at me like that!" she added reproachfully. "I know that look. It is the one you used to shoot me when I was a kid to make me tidy my room…"

The Argonian did not finish her sentence. Lucien was very good at aiming but he was still feeling a bit dizzy, which explained why the book he had quickly retrieved from Vicente's library missed Ocheeva's head from an inch only - and landed instead on the vampire's beloved "everything-coffin" collection **2**. All the little cups painted with coffin motifs, coffin-keyrings and the like fell on the floor, where many crashed into pieces.

"Oh great! Now we are going to have two very pissed folks instead of one!" M'raaj-Dar spat. "Wait for Vicente to come back and see that…"

Another book flew in the air, hitting the Khajiit right in between the eyes.

"Arrrgh!" he yelled in pain.

"Gogron, don't stay here, looking stupid!" exclaimed Telaendril, pushing the Orc forward. "Do something! Try to take those books away from him!"

"Are you crazy? I am too young to die!"

Lucien was about to send a third book when he brusquely suspended his move and glared at something behind the assassins. But none of them dared to turn around.

"A-_hem_." someone coughed politely. "Do you all mind…?"

The assassins finally risked an eye and realised that Vicente Valtieri was standing behind them, eyebrows raised interrogatively at the scene before his eyes.

"I just leave you lot for a week, and then you turn my room into an annex of Bruma's battlefield…"

"Vicente!" exclaimed a very relieved Ocheeva. "You are finally back!"

"Yes, finally. I have been quite busy lately…" said the vampire mysteriously. "Ah, Speaker!" he added happily when he spotted Lucien sitting on the floor, "I am glad you are here, there are quite a few things we need to…"

The vampire interrupted himself as his eyes fall onto the chain.

"… discuss." Valtieri finished flatly. "And probably more than I thought first…"

He gently freed himself from Ocheeva's embrace and shot her a very inquisitive look.

"Well, I can explain you everything." said the Argonian.

And she clarified the situation. Lucien grunted a few time during her report, but apart from that, he remained quiet, his arms crossed on his chest, shooting very nasty looks at the rest of the sanctuary members.

"I see…" said the vampire when Ocheeva stopped talking.

He then glared at Lucien, who glared back. No one dared to utter a single word.

"Fine." Vicente sighed after a while, keeping his eyes on Lucien. "Would you all mind to leave us alone for a minute? I think we need to talk…"

A fight almost started off among the assassins as they all stayed stuck into the doorway while trying to cross it at the same time.

"Don't look at me like that…" said Lucien irritably once they were alone.

There was absolutely not an inch of anger, irony or even mockery in the vampire's eyes. Rather, a nice dose of sympathy was gleaming in the red iris, but this was actually making things worst…

"In what kind of trouble have you put yourself into _again_?" asked Vicente, shaking his head.

Lucien refused to reply, his face contorted into an angry pout. With his arms still crossed on his chest, he was really looking like a sulking little boy.

"Do you want to talk about it?" the vampire enquired kindly.

"_No_!" Lucien spat. "And if you could all stop mothering me, that would be greatly appreciated, thank you!"

Vicente shrugged.

"As you wish."

And he walked away toward what was left of his precious collection. He kneeled on the ground, and started to pick up pieces of the broken cups.

"I may be able to save a few…" said Vicente more or less to himself, trying to make to pieces matching together.

"I am sorry." Lucien mumbled. "I did not want to break your collection, but Ocheeva's head."

"Nevermind. I will start a new one…" replied the vampire quietly, putting back the broken pieces on the table. "But there are more pressing things for the moment…"

He walked toward his chest, opened it and started looking for something into it.

"What are you doing?"

"Well," started Vicente, still searching in the trunk, "I think I finally have found a use for all this money I have saved over the last century. Ah, here they are!" And he retrieved four very fat purses he nonchalantly threw on the table. "Hope that will be enough though…"

Lucien's eyes narrowed.

"Enough for doing what, exactly?"

"To pay a necromancer who is going to separate Sigrid's soul from the Ankou's before the end of the year." replied Vicente in a conversational voice. "But I believe you already knew that, didn't you?"

There was a hint of reproach and sarcasm in the vampire's voice, which was no lost on Lucien.

"Yes, I did know. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know… Maybe because I would have liked to be let into the secret…"

"This is Black Hand business, Vicente." replied Lucien in a voice he wished was as neutral as possible. He knew he was heading toward a row with Vicente, but was not sure how to avoid it. "There was no particular reason for you to be involved in the matter."

"Oh, Black Hand business, hey?" This time, the vampire was openly sardonic. "Like when you and J'Ghasta decided to take your little revenge over Ungolim and Uvani to make them pay for Rivanone's death, for instance."

Lucien rolled his eyes. He had expected to have this discussion with Valtieri one day, but today was not exactly _the_ day…

"Vicente, avenging Rivanone was not our only motivation. And having you implied into this would have singularly complicated matters!"

"Yes, it certainly would have." said Vicente, his lips curling up in a nasty smile and his eyes starting to gleam. "Especially when your little plan implied taking the risk of 'purifying' the Cheydinhall sanctuary. Your _own _sanctuary…"

Lucien's face turned very pale at the words, to Vicente's greatest satisfaction. The vampire had actually been quite upset when he had found out the truth, and he was decided to let Lucien know about his discontentment.

Really, risking the lives of Cheydinhall's sanctuary members in order to get ride of the traitor, Uvani and Ungolim by manipulating Sigrid was completely foolish. Only twisted minds like Lucien's and J'Ghasta could come up with such a sick plan…. Right, to their credits, things finally worked out quite well. But still!

"Listen, Vicente. I can explain. I…" said Lucien, desperately looking for something to say to justify himself. But the vampire raised a hand to put an end to his objections.

"This is not necessary, Lucien. I just wanted you to know I completely disapproved you methods." he said in a soft voice, but his red eyes gleamed stronger. "It is certainly the most ridiculous, silly and insane thing you have done in your life – and you have done many!"

Lucien scowled. He knew he was getting bawled out, and he did not like it much. But he could not find anything smart to say to defend himself.

"Will you stop one day talking to me as if I was still a stupid teenager?" he sighed finally.

Vicente gave him one of his "hey-look-I have-cool-fangs" smiles.

"I am a three hundred years-old vampire. To me, you will _always_ be a silly teenager, even if dressed in Black Hand robes…"

Lucien could not retain a small laugh, and the tension dropped significantly.

"So, what your next move is going to be?"

"I am going to pick up Sigrid at the Could Ruler Temple – where she is resting with Prince Char… I mean, Martin Septim…"

"Oh, I am not that sure they are exactly _resting_." Lucien interrupted him, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "They must be quite busy together…"

Vicente smiled. The ruthless Speaker of the Cheydinhall sanctuary being jealous… That was definitely a thing worth to see. Ah, if only Lucien knew…Vicente's little stay in Sigrid's mind had allowed him to take a good glimpse of her most secretive thoughts, and it had been relatively… interesting. Dear, dear, young people could be _so_ complicated…

"…And after that," continued Vicente, who did as if he had not heard Lucien's remark, "we will go to the Imperial city to see Aulius Scribonius, the necromancer I have..."

Vicente interrupted himself as someone carefully knocked on the door. There was a little pause, and Antoinetta Marie carefully stepped in.

"Er, sorry to interrupt, Speaker," she said to Lucien, blushing and looking ill-at-ease under the Speaker's gaze. "But Ocheeva insisted for me to tell you something, really, really important…"

"Go ahead." he grunted.

Antoinetta looked at her feet and blushed a little more.

"Hum, she also said you were probably not going to like it much…"

"I said 'go ahead', Antoinetta" growled Lucien.

The girl gulped. The Speaker looked like he was going to burst out again.

"Er, hum, fine…" she said, clearing her throat. "Two days ago, when you were still, er… asleep, a company of mages from the Arcane University came to Cheydinhall." she said. "None of us paid much attention to them first, but I went shopping earlier this morning, I heard two guys on the market talking about how the leader of this group of mages was offering a good reward to anyone who could give her interesting information on Sigrid Trencavel."

Lucien feels his guts turning into lead.

"And who is leading this company of mages?" he asked, despite the fact he already knew the answer.

"A Breton lady called Mahaut Montfort. I have seen her, and she looks a lot like Sigrid, actually…"

"_Damn, they have not lost time."_ Lucien thought, passing a hand over his face. By one way or another, the Montforts had managed to trail Sigrid back to Cheydinhall. Of course, the Dark Brotherhood had always been very careful, and in theory, Mahaut should not be able to find much on Sigrid's activities in Cheydinhall. Well, in theory _only_, and this is what was worrying Lucien most…

He suddenly blinked when he realised Vicente was talking to him.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked the vampire.

"I was saying that you looked worried."

"Indeed. And I am going to tell you why."

And Lucien related the vampire in minute detail the Black Hand's recent issues with the Montforts – Celeaden's assassination, Clairvaux' diary and more recently, the fiasco of his little expedition with J'Ghasta at the Monforts' manor.

"Ah, so those rumours about Umbra being in possession of the Mages Guild were true…" said Vicente musingly after Lucien had exposed him the problem.

"Yes, and you should be very careful, Vicente. The Montforts are far from being inoffensive…"

"Well, if Mahaut is here, I don't risk much in the Imperial City, do I?"

"You forgot Foulques. From what we know, _he_ is still in the Imperial city. That's why I think you should take some back up with you."

There was a little gleam of hope in Lucien's eyes, and Vicente suddenly understood why the Speaker was so keen on having him taking some help.

"Hmmm, you may be right… I shall take someone along with me. Someone resourceful and experienced..." he said after a while, considering Lucien with a falsely appraising look.

"My point exactly!" exclaimed Lucien. "Now please go to see Ocheeva and ask her the keys of this bloody handcuff." he added, shaking the chain in front of Valtieri. "I am sure you will be able to convince her as she always listens to…"

The Speaker frowned and interrupted himself when he realised that Vicente was smiling widely.

"What makes you smile?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oooh, but I was not talking about taking _you _along with me, Speaker…" replied Vicente, who had to make great efforts not to laugh at Lucien perplexed expression. "Antoinetta, you don't have any duties at the moment, do you?"

The girl shook her head.

"Er, no…"

"Good!" Now go and pack your stuffs, we are going to Bruma and then to the Imperial city."

"Vicente?" asked Lucien, still bemused, as the two were walking toward the door. "You are not going to leave me here, are you…?"

"Of course I am!" exclaimed the vampire happily. "Weren't you complaining a few weeks ago about how much work you had? Now, you have plenty of time to do whatever you like – reading, sleeping, chatting, playing with Schemer – or even think about what it cost to disappoint an old vampire… Enjoy!"

"No! Vicente! Wait!"

"Cheerio!" said the vampire while pushing Antoinetta in front of him.

"Valtieri! Come back immediately! You filthy undead son of a…!"

And, still smiling widely, Vicente shut the door.

77777777777777

It was a bright day, and the sun was shining over the Jerall's Mountains. The snow was melting slowly and a bit of fog was rising in the air. Nothing was perturbing the silence of mountains, except from the punctual cry of birds of prey, and the atmosphere in the Cloud Temple was very peaceful as well. Well, almost…

"No, no and _no_!" spat Nirana Carvain, her voice booming in the Temple courtyard. "For the last time, Jauffre, there is no way I am going back to the Imperial City! Those meetings are completely pointless. Nothing will get out of them for the moment, so I am not going to loose more time there!"

"But Countess," pleaded the Grandmaster of the Blades, "we need someone to be in the Imperial city to tell us what is going on!"

"Well, that won't be me!"

Sit on the little patch of grass in the Temple courtyard, Sigrid and Martin were watching them arguing.

The last few days had been the happiest in Sigrid's life. Actually, she was not even certain if she had to think in days, weeks or months, as it seems that time had stopped. She had been spending all her time with Martin, eating, walking around, talking and, well… doing "other-kind-of-stuffs" together. She had hoped it could have last forever, but unfortunately, their little routine had found an end this morning, when Jauffre had convoked a meeting to have an update on the situation in the Imperial city with Countess Carvain, who had just come back from the Elder Council.

"Seems like our dear Nirana is a bit annoyed…" commented Martin, chewing a blade of grass as he watched Carvain and Jauffre gesticulating in front of the main hall door.

"Yes, and I perfectly understand her." Sigrid said. "The new she had brought us from the Imperial City are not encouraging."

Sigrid frowned when remembering what happened during the meeting. Countess Carvain had given them a very gloomy account of the political situation in the capital of the Empire. Things were not exactly going according to plan: the Council seemed to be deeply divided between the nobles who supported Martin's claim to the throne, and the others, who were arguing that there was no proof Martin was Uriel's son.

"No proof?!" Jauffre had almost strangled himself when he had heard this. "And what about the Amulet of Kings?"

Carvain had shrugged.

"They just said that you, Jauffre, made it up, that it is not the true Amulet, and blablabla…"

"Well, let Martin relight the Fire in the Temple of the One!" Baurus had exclaimed, banging his two fists on the table. "And we will see if Martin is not the true heir of the Septim's dynasty!"

Jauffre had shot the Redguard a very annoyed look. The Grandmaster of the Blades had been keen on having his men calling Martin "Your Lordship", "Sire" or even "Dragon Born", but it seemed that Baurus had not completely grasped the general idea…

"And that is exactly why they won't let Martin getting anywhere near the Imperial City and the Temple of the One." sighed the Countess. "They perfectly know the Amulet is the real one and that Martin is Uriel's son. All they are trying to do by arguing on that is to gain time to find a solution that will allow them to keep power for themselves – that is to say, without an emperor in the way." Her lips had pursued as she had seemed to remember something very unpleasant. "And some of them seem really determined to use any kind of means to reach their goal…"

While talking, Carvain had retrieved a paper from a pile standing in front of her, and had handed it to Martin.

"What is it?" he had asked, starting to read.

"It is a pamphlet which is currently circulating in the Imperial City. It is dealing with the subject of your… origins, as well as the nature of your relationship with Lady Trencavel." said Carvain diplomatically. "And as you will see, your detractors are in brilliant form."

She then turned toward Sigrid.

"And there are other nasty rumours running on you as well. About you being a necromancer, or at least, being involved into some shady business with Mannimarco's followers…"

"Nonsense." had replied Sigrid flatly.

"I know. But there always will be people to give it some credits." The Countess had looked suddenly worried. "Be careful, Lady Trencavel. You have very powerful enemies, and they are ready to do anything to destroy you…"

The two women had exchanged a quick but known look. No one had needed to mention it, but the name "Montfort" was floating in the air.

"Oh, so they call me the 'Bastard'." had said Martin in a very neutral voice, who was still reading. "With a capital 'b'. And according to them, my mother was some kind of streetwalker, a courtesan without any scruples who seduced Emperor Uriel thanks to her evil magical powers… Oh, they also talk about you, Sigrid."

"What?" the girl had asked, snatching the piece of parchment from his hands.

Her eyes had scanned the paper quickly and she turned very pale in the face.

"They call me a _whore_?" she had said, her voice trembling in indignation.

"The Bastard's whore." had clarified Jauffre, who was reading over Sigrid's shoulder. "And without a capital letter." he had added nastily.

The girl had turned toward the Grandmaster, snarling.

"Funny, they do not mention the old prune that is assuming the charge of Grandmaster of the Blades and which could not find his ass with a map…"

A few people had laughed quietly and Jauffre had gritted his teeth, muscles playing under his pale and thin skin while Sigrid's sneer had turned into a perfectly innocent and bright smile.

"And what is Ocato's position on my claim to the throne?" had asked Martin firmly, as he had felt a fight coming up and was decided to nip it in the bud.

"Oh, our dear Chancellor seems to be a bit overwhelmed by the situation." had said the Countess with a sad laugh. "He is using his traditional policy of appeasement and refuses to take position officially. And by sitting on the fence, he is taking the risk of triggering a civil war."

"A civil war?" Jauffre had interrupted her. "But that means that Martin has quite a lot of support then!"

The Grandmaster of the Blades almost had sounded delighted at the prospect, but Countess Carvain had not seemed to share his enthusiasm.

"Oh, the people like Martin. They see him as the true heir of the Septim's throne. But the aristocracy is another story…" Nirana Carvain raised a hand and started counting on her fingers. "Basically, there are only me, Ontus Vanin – who is a complete outcast in the Mage Guild – Janus Hassildor and a few other small and insignificant nobles who are openly supporting Martin's claim to the Imperial throne."

A rather appalled silence had welcomed this declaration.

"What about the others?" had finally asked Jauffre.

"Most of them have been corrupted or are too frightened by the "anti Martin" club to dare to claim they are supporting him." Nirana Carvain had muffled a yawn with her hand. "But I can't completely blame them, given the fact that their leaders are the Montfort siblings. Those two are probably the nastiest piece of work I have ever seen…"

And the rest of the meeting had been spent discussing how much support Martin did have in the Council and what could make the indecisive aristocrats to make up their mind, but Sigrid had stopped listening to the argument.

She had not liked to admit it, but the pamphlets' insult had touched her more deeply than she thought. No need to be particularly clever to guess that Mahaut and Foulques were behind such kind of despicable act… But worst, her dear cousins were now turning to good account their power and influence in the Council to undermine Martin's claim – which they probably would not have done if he had not been so close to Sigrid... The girl had been torturing her brain to find a way to thwart their plan. Technically, she also had a seat at the Elders Council, and her family name was prestigious. But prestige is not power, and the Montforts built up an impressive network of well placed people with which she could not compete…

"Sigrid? Are you listening to me?"

The girl blinked and turned her attention back onto Martin, who apparently had asked her something.

"Pardon?"

"You are worried about those rumours, aren't you?" he repeated.

"No, I am not." she lied. "But what I am really concerned about is that we are loosing time with those silly political considerations. The Oblivion gates are still not shut, and I am afraid that Merhunes Dagon may try to turn to good account the time we are offering him on a plate."

"Maybe, but by killing Camoran, you gave him and his minions a nasty blow. It will take them a lot of time to recover from that."

"I don't think so… Merhunes Dagon's wrath may be a quite good incentive for his cronies to strike back as soon as possible."

Martin stopped chewing his blade of grass and looked pensive.

"Well, I reckon he must be annoyed to have been deprived from a whole world with his name on it." he said after a while.

"Martin, are you sure you are taking this _seriously_?" Sigrid asked, frowning. "We are talking about the fate of Nirn!"

He cracked her one of his gentle and terribly seductive smiles, and the girl brusquely felt the urge to go somewhere else and do "other-kind-of-stuffs" with him.

"Yes, I do. But I have other things in mind at the moment." His expression became very serious. "Sigrid, there is something I would like to ask you. And to give you as well…"

He then started searching for something into one of his pockets, and by doing so, he made something falling on the ground.

"Hey, what is that?" asked Sigrid, peering curiously at the small and square object lying in the grass.

It looked like a book, and actually it was one. But it was extremely small, certainly the smallest book Sigrid had ever seen in her life. Actually, it had the perfect size if you wanted to hide it, especially in a pocket…

"Well, er…" started Martin, looking very discomfited.

And he bent forward to pick up the book, but Sigrid was quicker than him.

"So, what is it?" she said

"You know, I really don't think you should read that…"

But Sigrid ignored him and read the title. Her eyes popped out and she put a hand over her mouth to muffle an evil chuckle.

" 'The Forbidden Gardens', by Crassus Curio. A special edition with colour illustrations." she giggled, reading the title aloud. "Oh, Martin, where did you find it?"

"In the Temple's library." he said, blushing furiously and trying to snatch the book from her hand. "Now, give me that back, please!"

"Oh no! Let me have a look at it!" she begged, pushing him away with one hand while trying to look at the book with the other. "Rooooh, look at that! Amazing! I didn't know you could do that with…"

"Right, that's enough!"

Martin finally managed to retrieve his copy of the "Forbidden Gardens" and stuffed it quickly back into his pocket.

"Now, I understand where you got all this creativity…" Sigrid giggled with a saucy smile.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked dryly.

"Well, you are doing fairly well for a priest…"

Her smile grew bigger and she burst out laughing. This time Martin openly looked irritated, but Sigrid's hilarity was contagious and he finally laughed as well.

"You know, I have not been a priest all my life…"

And before she could make a move, he bent forward and kissed her. Sigrid was about to give him his kiss back when he caught her hand and slowly put something into it.

"What is it?" she asked, gently pushing Martin away and shooting him an inquisitive look.

"Just open your hand."

She did so, to realise that a nice ring was standing in the middle of her palm.

"_A _nice_ ring?"_ asked the Voice in disbelief. _"You are kidding me! The Gods be damned, it is a bloody master piece of art!"_

Indeed, the ring was so pretty it took Sigrid's breath away as soon as her eyes fell onto it. It was not a simple thin metallic circle, but was as big as one of her phalanx. Made of silvery metal – maybe platinum? – it was inlaid with tiny little green diamond-shaped enamels and mother-of-pearl squares. Its upper part was a big thicker and flat than the rest, and onto it was inlaid a bigger green enamel shaped into a dragon which perfectly looked like the stylised one of the Imperial coat of arm. Turning the ring around to admire it from every angle, Sigrid gulped with surprise when she realised her name was engraved along with Martin's inside the ring.

"Do you like it?" asked the latter with an amused gleam in the eyes.

The girl did not reply immediately. Fascinated, she was looking at how the light was playing on the enamel, making it roll in her palm with her fingertips.

"I do, but…Is it…?"

Martin beamed.

"…A wedding ring? Yes."

He took her hands into his again and riveted his blue eyes into hers.

"Sigrid Trencavel, will you marry me?" he asked while taking the ring and passing it around her annular.

Sigrid blinked. She was vaguely aware that Martin was still talking to her, but she did not pay attention anymore, busy she was in her daydreaming. Bathed into some kind of pink mental fog, pictures started to form in her mind, and most of them were implying a long and beautiful white dress, flowers, the Temple of the One and plenty of little peeping birds.

Yes, her marriage with the heir of the Imperial throne would be unforgettable. All the nobles of Tamriel would attend it of course. Her father would be sitting in the front row in the Temple, his eyes full of the pride he had never shown her before, whereas, standing somewhere in the background, Mahaut and Foulques Montfort would be looking at the scene miserably, Mahaut eating her mage's staff out of rage.

And then she would be crowned. Empress Sigrid. Hmm, that did not sound too bad at all… She imagined herself sitting on her throne, next to Martin, in the huge throne room full of standards, courtesans and nice little peeping birds…

"_Hey, who keeps adding those annoying little peeping birds?"_ Sigrid protested.

"_Sorry_", giggled the Voice, "_but it was too tempting…Gosh, I can't believe it! We are going to get married!"_

"_We?! It is _my_ wedding, thank you!"_ Sigrid grumbled mentally before coming back to her pensiveness.

So, here was her destiny: becoming Martin Septim's wife… Living and dying at his side… Being_ his_, for the rest of her life…

The smile on her face brusquely faded.

"Sigrid, is there something wrong?"

Martin was looking at her, a concerned expression written all over his face. The girl bit her lips, confused. How to explain him…? Like every little girls, she had dreamed about the day she would get married. But now she realised that being a bard had granted her a lot of freedom. Indeed, as an itinerant singer, she had been able to travel all around Tamriel – often on her own –, meeting many people and visiting numerous different places, as well as doing other things that were perfectly socially acceptable for an itinerant singer but not tolerable for a lady of good breed…

Her profession had been a bastion protecting her from the traditional and inevitable fate of a "lady" – marrying someone she did not like, spending the rest of her life having children and caring after them, before growing old and finally dying, realizing she had not really 'lived' at all. Sigrid truly loved Martin, like she had never loved someone before. But was she ready to surrender her freedom, even for Martin's love…?

"No, there isn't anything wrong" she lied. "It is just I am a bit… surprised."

But she could not hide the hint of hesitation in her voice. There was a short but meaningful pause.

"You don't want to marry me?" he said softly, letting her hand go and taking a step away.

Sigrid's heart sank as Martin's worried expression brusquely turned into an agonizing one. Damn, she hated herself for being so tactless. Martin had probably imagined that she would be thrilled by the news, and then that they would celebrate it all together. But instead, she was spoiling everything by her stupid selfishness.

"No, no! It is not that …" she said a bit too quickly to sound completely honest. "I just think it may be a bit too early, that's all." She started stroking his cheek with the back of her hand. "We know, we barely know each other and…"

Martin jumped as if he had been stung.

"_Barely_ know each other?" he said, grabbing her hand and removing it from his face. "You saved my life, we have spent the few last months working out a plan to thwart Merhunes Dagon, and you are the person I have been the closest to in my entire life! So I don't know what I need to do for you to think we know each other well enough!"

Martin stood up and walked a few steps away from Sigrid. He had turned his back to her, but she could tell by the stiffness in his neck and shoulders as well as his clenched fists that he was very upset. She got up as well and walked toward him.

"I know, I am sorry Martin, this is not what I wanted to say…" she whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Well, if you don't want to marry me, at least try to find a credible excuse!" he exclaimed, freeing his shoulder from her grasp with a bad-tempered gesture.

Sigrid moved away, her hands crossed on her chest. Mortified, she was trying to find something to say to comfort him.

"Martin, I did not say I didn't want to marry you…"

"There is someone else, isn't there?" he interrupted her. "There is someone else, and you did not dare to tell me…"

"What? No! Of course not…!" she interrupted him with force as a picture of Lucien Lachance materialised in her mind, but she resolutely put it away. "What make you think such a thing…?"

"You have not been completely honest with me, Sigrid." he sighed, turning toward her. "For example, you did not tell me about the real nature of your friend Vicente Valtieri."

Sigrid's jaw dropped at the words.

"But… how do you know?"

"It does not matter." Martin replied, passing a hand on his face, "But what really matter is that by not telling me he was a vampire, we came an ace of a catastrophe."

"All right, I admit I haven't told you the entire truth." said Sigrid. "But that doesn't mean I am cheating on you!"

"No, maybe not, but it shows you don't trust me… No wonders why you don't want to marry me!" he exclaimed bitterly.

"But why on Nirn are you so keen on marrying me _now_?" asked Sigrid, who was slowly starting to loose her temper. "Can't it wait at least until the Oblivion crisis is over?"

"No, it can't! Otherwise, it may be too late…"

Martin's eyes brusquely widened and he shut his mouth quickly when he realised he had said too much. But it was too late. Sigrid's eyes narrowed and she put her face a few inched from his.

"What do you mean by 'it may be too late'?" she murmured menacingly. "Too late for what exactly?"

"Well, it is, er… I mean…" babbled Martin, looking around until his eyes finally stopped on something. Sigrid followed his gaze and understanding finally stroke her. The Grandmaster had finished arguing with Nirana Carvain, who was about to leave, and was now watching Martin and Sigrid carefully.

"Oh, of course." the girl whispered. "What a fool I am. I should have known…"

And she walked resolutely toward Jauffre, ignoring Martin's calls behind her.

"You…" she hissed once near him, pointing a finger at him in a threatening way. "_You_…"

Jauffre remained perfectly calm, and his lips curled up in an ironical sneer.

"Is there a problem, Lady Trencavel?"

She put the ring under his nose.

"You are behind that, aren't you?" she spat.

"Oh, so his Lordship has finally asked your hand?" asked Jauffre very calmly in return. "Good! When shall I plan to organise the wedding?"

"Wait a minute!" growled Sigrid. "I have never said I was going to marry anyone, at least not before I get an explanation!"

"And for what do you need an explanation, may I ask?"

"About _you_ pushing Martin to marry _me_!" she yelled, gesturing toward Martin who was walking toward them, a very embarrassed look on his face.

Jauffre looked at Martin and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The latter winced in excuse and then Jauffre turned his attention back on Sigrid, who was still boiling with rage.

"I am not forcing anyone to marry you, my dear." said Jauffre quietly. "But when it appeared, a few months ago, that our Emperor was definitely attracted by you, I thought it was time to think of legalising your relationship – in the case, of course, you would have answered favourably to his advances…"

"Jauffre, the go-between." said Sigrid, being ironical. "Then you don't mind if your precious heir is marrying a whore – without a capital letter?"

"No, and in fact, these rumours are comforting the fact that we need to legalise your union as soon as possible. At lest, it will kill those nasty rumours and will secure the position of your offspring as heirs of the Septim throne."

Sigrid turned very pale at the words. So, this was what they had in mind since the beginning... She suddenly felt very empty and made great effort not to burst into tears.

"Oh, I see. Children. Or rather I should say _heirs_." she had a sad laugh and tuned toward Martin. "Now I understand why you wanted to marry me before 'it is too late'... Ah, it would have been _too bad_ if I had gotten pregnant before we got married! " She shook her head sadly. "I can't believe you have let him convinced you to work into his plan, Martin."

"But Jauffre is kind of right." he pleaded. "I mean, if we are going to have children together, they'd better have a… an official status. You don't want them being called bastards like their father, do you?"

Those were not the words Sigrid was expecting to hear. Anger quickly built up in her chest and she was doing all she could to keep from smacking him.

"Is this your way to show me your love and respect?" she shouted. "By treating me as if I was the mare which is going to give you the foals you are coveting?!"

"Sigrid, please, listen…" begged Martin.

"Riders approaching!" shouted one of the sentinels.

"Who is it?" Jauffre shouted back, interrupting Martin and Sigrid in their argument.

"Vicente Valtieri, Sir! With a young lady I have never seen before…!"

"Must be his snack…" sniffed the Blademaster scornfully. "Let the door closed! We don't need him to…"

"No!" yelled Sigrid, rushing toward the stairs which were leading to the Temple's main gates. "Open the doors! _Open the doors_!"

The Blades looked a bit confused, trying to work out whom they should listen to. Jauffre was he commander in chief of the Temple, but Trencavel was quasi empress of Tamriel…

"I am your Master!" roared Jauffre. "Keep the gates closed or I will personally punish the first one who…!"

"And as your Emperor, I order you to open the gates." Martin interrupted him. "And it is an order, Jauffre. So don't loose your time trying to argue with me." said Martin flatly while he followed Sigrid down the stairs.

She was already at their bottom, waiting impatiently for the gate to open. Finally, they opened a little and Vicente Valtieri crossed them.

"Vicente!" Sigrid exclaimed happily, throwing herself into his arms so hard she almost knocked him over

"Wow, this is what I call a warm welcome!" replied the vampire, beaming. "Glad to see you are feeling much better… Oh, hello, Martin!" added Vicente when he spotted the young man behind Sigrid.

"So, have you found someone who may be able to help us?" she asked eagerly, not leaving Martin the time to answer Vicente's greetings.

"Yes, and we have not time to loose. He is waiting for us, so go pack your stuffs. We need to be at the Imperial City by tonight."

Sigrid clapped her hands in pleasure and climbed the stairs quickly.

"She looks like she is in great form." said the vampire appraisingly. "Thanks for having taken care of her, Martin."

The latter flushed a little as he was not sure how to interpret Vicente's last sentence.

"You are welcome."

The vampire's eyes narrowed a little as if something was suddenly bothering him.

"Hmm, you are not wearing your imperial set of robes anymore?" asked the vampire, frowning. "Jauffre made such a fuss to make you wearing them…"

"I know, but er… Sigrid did not like them, so I took them off."

"Ah. I see."

There was an awkward pause during which Vicente examined the young man carefully. He was dancing from one foot to another and he had a resentful expression painted all over his face. Vicente resisted a strong urge to laugh when he realised what was going wrong.

"You two have argued, haven't you?"

Martin opened two very surprised eyes.

"By the Nine, how did you work that out?"

"Intuition, my dear Martin, intuition." said Vicente, winking and patting the side of his nose with his forefinger. "And the fact that Sigrid seemed quite eager to leave while you look like you have eaten a whole barrel of lemons…! May I ask what the subject of your argument was?"

"Well, marriage and children…" sighed Martin, looking at the sky and making sour a face.

"I should have known." chuckled Vicente. "Well, it may be your first row about it, but it won't be the last, believe me!" he added cheerfully, nudging Martin.

"If you say so…"

They brusquely turned around when they heard a voice booming behind them.

"I am ready!"

Sigrid was standing the top of the stairs, wearing her backpack and pulling her very old horse behind her. The poor thing was slamming on the brakes but was not strong enough to resist.

"No Sigrid." said Vicente once the girl was near him. "There is no way you are going to ride Miranda. We need to be _quick_, understood?"

Sigrid made a pout but did not insist. She freed the old mare which gave the equine equivalent of a relief sigh and climbed the stairs as fast as she could.

"So, you are leaving?" Martin asked Sigrid in a voice he tried to keep as neutral as possible when she passed near him.

"Yes, I am." she replied in an equally forced neutral tone. "But I should be back by tomorrow, I think."

A pause.

"Well, good luck then." said Martin. "Whatever your task may be…"

"Thank you."

Sigrid opened her mouth as if she was going to add something, but made up her mind at the last moment and remained silent. She then turned toward the doors and followed Vicente, who was already crossing the gates.

Once they were out of sight, Martin climbed up the stairs and walked toward the parapet to take a better view at the three riders who were galloping on the road down to Bruma. After a while, he felt someone approaching him form behind and passing a friendly arm around his shoulders.

"So dude, how did it go?" asked Baurus, beaming. "Should I get my 'best man' suit ready?"

"Well, things did not happen the way I had imagined them." Martin sighed, looking at the three silhouettes disappearing behind a hill. "It could have been much better, but in a sense, it could have been much worst as well."

"Er, fine." said Baurus, looking a bit perplexed. "But, in the end, did she say yes?"

Martin turned toward the Redguard and had a little smile.

"Actually, she did not. But she did not say no either." His smile grew wider. "And she kept the ring."

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"Yes, and what else?" asked Mahaut as patiently as she could.

She then shot a very annoyed look at the old woman who was sitting in front of her. Her skin was so wrinkled she was looking like one of those Antic Elsweyrian mummies…. All that was missing were bandages and Mahaut had surprised herself sniffing the air discreetly to try to detect the smell of formalin… In addition, she had that very long cane she was waving around when she was getting exited. And telling the stories of Sigrid Trencavel's feats exited her a lot…

"And then she put an end to the racketeering organised by the watchmen!" the old woman cackled. "You should have seen Ulrich Leland's face when Garrus came to arrest him. This bastard was rotten to the core!"

"Absolutely fascinating…" said Mahaut, while Yohan, who was sitting next to her, muffled a yawn with his hand. "But has she ever acted in a weird or suspicious way?"

"Trencavel? Nah, she is such a nice girl! If I had a son, I would make him marry he!." Her face suddenly took a worried expression. "The thing is, I don't have a son. I am not even married…"

And she burst out in a very dry laugh which soon turned into a coughing fit.

"Oh and there is also that bit when she saved Rythe Lythandas…" she continued, after having cleared her throat.

"Er, that will be enough, thank you." said Yohan precipitately as he saw Mahaut running very red in the face. "We do not want to detain you. Again, thanks for your time, and don't forget your money…"

The old lady patted him gently on the cheek as she stood up and took the purse Yohan was handing her.

"Thank you, m'boy. I wish you and your lady here a very nice day!"

And she left the inn, pushing bystanders aside with her cane.

"Right! If I hear any other story on how Sigrid Trencavel being so great and saving the day, I swear I am going to _kill_ someone…" moaned Mahaut, taking her head between her hands.

"Be patient, Master Mahaut." said the young man, patting her shoulder in a comforting way. "At least our informers were right: Trencavel has been very active in Cheydinhall recently, so we should be able to find something out soon."

"Yeah," replied Mahaut bitterly, "like how she can cure scrofula just by touching people!"

Yohan made a face. His lady had been like a bear with a sore head over the past few days. Apparently, she was still shaken from her little adventure with the Dark Brotherhood as well as his brother's behaviour toward her. And realising that her cousin was extremely popular – at least in Cheydinhal – had not improved her mood for the best.

Yohan gave a start when Mahaut suddenly banged on the table.

"Gosh! I hate this place!" she exclaimed. "The people, the city, the general atmosphere... Eveything is sooo… provincial!" she sniffed contemptuously. "No wonder why my dear cousin is spending quite a lot of time around here."

"Come on, it is not so bad…" said Yohan, shooting worried glances around him.

This was definitely not the moment to piss off the population of Cheydinhall. They had been here for two days, and still had not been able to find anything interesting – that is to say compromising – on Trencavel.

"I have enough of this!" said Mahaut, getting up. "Let's go out for a while, I need some fresh air…"

Yohan was about to follow her when he noticed a girl who was standing not far from their table and fixing them intensely. When she realised that Yohan had seen her, she stepped forward.

"Excuse me?" she asked. "Are you the mages looking for information on Sigrid Trencavel?"

Mahaut frowned.

"Yes. And you are?"

"My name is Telaendril." said the Bosmer. "And I think I may be able to help you."

"Well, you'd better have to tell me something interesting." grunted Mahaut, inviting the Bosmer to take a sit. "Because it had been a very long day…"

Telaendril hesitated. It was still time to walk back. She could pretend she had made up her mind and go away. Yes, that would a very reasonable thing to do. But unfortunately, Telaendril was feeling more jealous than reasonable…

Damn that stupid little goose of Trencavel! Why had she to be so well-liked? She just arrived a few months ago, and had won everybody over, from Lucien Lachance to that awkward customer of M'raaj-Dar… Worst! She had climbed all the Dark Brotherhood ranks very quickly. Actually, so quickly that Lachance had given her a special mission whereas, she, Telaendril, who had been an assassin longer than her, had never been offered that opportunity!

The Bosmer gritted her teeth and remembering all those injustices definitely killed the rest of hesitation and remorse she still had.

"So, my dear Telaendril, what would you like to tell us?" asked Mahaut.

"Well," started the Bosmer while accepting the sit Mahaut was offering her, "there are a few things I know about Trencavel that may interest you…"

1. Please don't ask...XD

2. Vicente's obsession with coffin will be explained later.


	19. Betrayals

**Chapter 19**

**Right ! Another chapter! **

**By the way, I have realized I have never thanked the anonymous readers who reviewed my story. Many, many thanks to you, guys! I wish I could send you PM to thank you personally, but as you are not registered, I can't.**

**What could I say about that chapter? Not much, apart from the fact that:**

**a) I am quite happy I am not one of the Palace guards…**

**b) Be nice, or the Dark Chewer will chew you up :P**

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Sigrid was contemplating Aulius Scribonius' house with a very skeptical look.

"Vicente, are you sure it is the right place…?" she asked in a doubtful voice.

She then turned toward the vampire and, raising a very skeptical eyebrow.

"Yep, I am categorical." replied Vicente, smiling under his mask and hood. "I already came here a few times to negotiate our… business with Scribonius. This is definitely the place… Nice, isn't it?"

The girl turned back toward the house and had to pinch herself to make sure she was not dreaming. She was standing in front of a very nice little cottage stuck between the imposing buildings which were the common lot in the Talos district plaza, in the Imperial city. The light of the two moons was softly illuminating a nice little garden with cleanly cut grass, wonderful and odorant flowerbeds and even…

"A bunch of garden gnomes?" Sigrid's eyes pooped out. "You must be kidding me! This can't be the residence of a very powerful necromancer. There is even a fake well!"

Vicente shook his hands frantically to tell her to be quiet and look around, worried.

"Be careful when pronouncing the 'n' word," he whispered, looking over his shoulder suspiciously, "or we may get into a lot of troubles…"

Sigrid rolled her eyes and made a large gesture with her arms to encompass the surroundings.

"Come on! With all this racket tonight, no one is paying attention to us…"

And to support her assertion, this the moment a band of completely sloshed revelers chose to irrupted in the street, yelling, singing and throwing streamers and confetti. Indeed, today – or rather, tonight – was the first day marking the beginning of the New Year Celebrations. The festivities would take place for nine days – on day for each one of the Nine Divines – with their cortege of parades, shows and the like, until they reached their apotheosis on the New Year's Eve, when the moons Masser and Secunda would perfectly line up and so mark the end of the year of Akatosh and the beginning of Dibella's.

"Does Scribonius _really_ live here?" asked Sigrid, having trouble to admit a necromancer could chose to stay in a charming house rather than in a dark and humid grotto packed with zombies.

"Well, if you were a necromancer hunted by the mage guild, what would you do?" replied Vicente, brushing some confetti away. "Hide in a very dark and sinister place, which says 'Hey, look! I am the perfect necromancer's lair!' Or choose a place of residence a bit more… conventional?"

Sigrid made a face.

"Conventional may not be the most accurate adjective here, but I guess you are right…" she said, scratching her noise in circumspection. "So, what is your plan now?"

"We just go and knock on the door. After that, we'll see." said Vicente. "And where has Antoinetta gone again? Damn, that girl cannot stay in one place!"

"She is over there, trying to look at the parade of Talos." replied Sigrid, pointing at Antoinetta with her thumb while still glaring, fascinated, at Scribonius' cottage.

Vicente turned around and watched Antoinetta for a while. The girl was jumping over and over again, trying to take a glimpse of the parade over the rows of spectators who were standing on each side of the road.

"Antoinetta!" hissed Vicente. "Would you mind focusing a bit on your mission for a second?"

Still leaping madly, the girl turned toward Vicente, beaming.

"Look!" she exclaimed, ignoring Vicente's remark and pointing at the cortege. "They are wearing such wonderful robes. And they even have…! Hey, what are you doing?" she complained as Vicente grabbed her by the collar and dragged her backward.

The vampire did not reply but sighed and tried not to shake his head in despair. He liked Antoinetta, even if she could be a bet, well… weird. But he knew that under her rather inoffensive look, she was an extremely skilled assassin. The only trouble with her was that most of the time, she had as much concentration abilities as a kitten…

The first time Vicente had met Antoinetta, he had really wondered why the Night Mother and the Black Hand had bothered recruiting her. She seemed to lack all the elementary qualities necessary for a competent assassin, such as attentiveness, dedication and patience…

Well, this is what he had thought until he went on a mission with her. And there, he had been able to discover another multifaceted of Antoinetta. A much violent, darker one that Lucien discreetly called "Antoinetta's little moments".

"Now listen." said the vampire, releasing the girl once near Sigrid and shaking his finger under her nose. "We are going to enter that house here." He pointed at Scribonius' cottage. "And I would like you to keep an eye on the surroundings. If you see anything suspect, don't try to handle the problem yourself and just come to warn us, understood?"

"Aye, aye, Sir!" said Antoinetta, standing to attention.

"Good girl! Off you go, now…"

"Well, are you sure she can handle this?" asked Sigrid hesitantly once Antoinetta had disappeared into the shadows. "I mean, she is nice and all, but she is not exactly… reliable, is she?"

"She is, believe me." said Vicente with a known smile, walking toward the house.

Once in front the door, the vampire knocked on it three short times. There was the sound of footsteps and the door opened an inch, letting filter a small ray of light.

"Yes?" asked a rather pleasant voice from inside.

"Good evening, Master Scribonius." replied the vampire. "This is Vicente Valtieri and, as promised, I have brought you the person we talked about…"

At the words, the door opened completely, revealing a small old man with grey hair and incredibly blue eyes which started to gleam in pleasure when they spotted Sigrid.

"Welcome, Lady Trencavel!" he boomed.

And without waiting for Sigrid's answer, the old man grabbed her by the front of her leather armor and dragged her inside. She had not gone through the doorway that a strong smell of cinnamon and apple started to tickle her nostrils.

"Oh, I am _so_ happy to meet you!" said Scribonius warmly. The little man had released her collar and was now shaking her hand with great enthusiasm. "I have heard so much about you! And this is not everyday you have the chance to meet and help the person who is harboring the soul of one of the greatest necromancer in History!"

"_Oh, I am starting to like this guy…"_ said the Voice.

"Well, er, thank you…" replied Sigrid.

"Come in, come in please!" continued the necromancer. "I have prepared some tea…"

Sigrid and Vicente followed him along the corridors of the house. Strangely enough, the inside of the building seemed bigger than from the outside. Indeed, it looked more like the interior of a rather big manor than the one of a small cottage…

"Oh, yes." said Scribonius, who had spotted Sigrid's perplex look. "An old mage trick. You see, space is a rather elastic concept, which can be extended or reduced to will, so I…"

While Scribonius was soliloquizing on the amazing properties of Hatrum's Multi-fractal enchantment, Sigrid took the time to analyze the surroundings. The decoration inside was probably as cheesy as the one outside. There was a profusion of wall coverings hanging from the roof and plenty of carpets on the floor. On the walls were hung many paintings, most of them featuring squinting kittens playing with boots or woolen balls.

"Er, you have a very… nice house. And I like your paintings." said Sigrid, trying desperately to find something polite to say.

"Do you? Well, I am not really found of kittens. I prefer still life paintings, you see."

"_Still, and very dead, I guess."_ said the Voice._ 'For a necromancer, the contrary would have been quite surprising…"_

"So, why do you have all those paintings of kittens then?" Sigrid asked again, trying not to chuckle at the Voice's last comment.

"My wife painted them."

"Oh, you are married…?"

"I was. My dear wife died years ago…"

There was an awkward silence.

"Oh, I am _so _sorry." Sigrid felt like she had made a big blunder, and so looked for something to make it up. Which is, often, a terrible mistake.

"And it is very kind of you to have kept those paintings in her memory – even if you don't like them…" she added.

Scribonius looked very embarrassed and turned toward Valtieri for a bit of support. But the latter ignored him as he seemed to be engrossed into the contemplation of a painting.

"Well," started the necromancer, "actually I keep them because she forces me too…"

Sigrid frowned.

"She _forces_ you to? But you just said she was…Oh."

Understanding and embarrassment stroke her at once, and she realized she had just gotten herself into more and more of a mess.

"Right. Fine. Er, I see…" she babbled. "You… She…She is… kind of… still around, isn't she?"

"Well, altogether a very interesting gallery, Master Scribonius." Vicente interrupted her, finally deciding that Sigrid's martyrdom lasted long enough. "Shall we proceed now?"

Scribonius nodded and lead them to a small, cozy and very pink dining room, where a kettle was steaming on the table near a plate full of cookies.

"Biscuits?" he asked, inviting his hosts to take a sit and handing the girl the plate.

Sigrid realized she had not eaten in a while and felt her mouth watering at the sight of the crispy little cakes toppled with chocolate chips.

"_Hmmm, chocolate chips cookies…I really, really like this guy!"_ said the Voice in her head.

"_Come on, this is not right."_ Sigrid thought, but nevertheless moving her hand toward the plate. _"I am being offered cookies by a necromancer…"_

"_Ah, shut up and eat the cookies!"_

As Sigrid was about to pick one cake from the plate, she heard Vicente giving a small cough. Suspending her move, she risked a glance toward him to see him shaking his head discreetly. She made a disappointed pout but withdrew her hand.

"Well, thank you for your very warm welcome, Master Scribonius." said Sigrid aloud, ill-at-ease. Damn, the necromancer's friendly smile was really creeping her out. "But I would like to go through this nasty business as quick as possible…"

Indeed, she wanted to make her stay at the necromancer's house as short as possible, not only because she feared the Mage Guild – after all, she was still being wanted for being a necromancer – but also because she really, _really_ did not want to bump into the late Madam Scribonius – or what was left of her.

The necromancer looked a bit disappointed by Sigrid's reaction, and for a second, the girl feared she might have offended him. But then a smile brightened up his wrinkled face.

"Well, of course. I understand you are quite impatient." he said, standing up. "Now, if you don't mind following me…" he added, walking toward a door he opened.

Sigrid and Vicente stood up and they start again wandering along a very long corridor.

"Why did you prevent me from eating the cookies?" Sigrid whispered to Vicente from the corner of her mouth when she was sure Scribonius could not hear them.

"Well, Scribonius is a necromancer, remember?" the vampire whispered back. "And you know what it means…"

Sigrid's face turned very pale at the words and her eyes widened in horror.

"Don't tell me he is making them out of human fle…"

"No. Of course not!" Vicente smiled widely. "I just wanted to underline the fact that studying necromancy all his life had never allowed Scribonius to learn how to cook properly…"

Sigrid rolled her eyes and nudged a chuckling Vicente in the ribs.

"Here we are!" exclaimed Scribonius, once they had reached a big wooden black door.

This time, Sigrid hold her breath, bracing herself to face the inconceivable. Indeed, what could be hiding in a necromancer's laboratory, if not corpses hanging from the roof, blood everywhere and other freaking and utterly disgusting things…?

"Welcome to my personal laboratory." said Scribonius, opening the door with a dramatic move.

The door gradually turned on its hinges and Sigrid released her breath. She had to admit she was slightly disappointed. Again, the place was not exactly looking like what she had been expected. No blood or dismembered bodies, but an extremely dark room, so dark Sigrid was not able to see the other end. Actually, it seems to the girl the shadows were so thick she could cut them with her sword. About twenty meters away from the entrance, a stone table was lighted by a row of candles which light seemed to have trouble to chase the surrounding darkness away.

Scribonius entered the room and Sigrid curbed her urge to warn him as it seemed he was going to be swallowed by the shadows. But the necromancer seemed to be walking unarmed toward the stone table, and realizing his guests were still standing on the doorway, he made an impatient gesture with his hand to notify them to follow him.

The girl exchanged a quick glance with Vicente, who was standing right behind her. The latter shrugged, trying to look relaxed, but Sigrid wasn't fooled.

Turning back toward the door, she took a step forward, closing her eyes as she expected to collapse dead on the floor. But no such things happened. She was just feeling a bit warm, and as she walked toward Scribonius and the table, she was pretty sure she could hear the shadows murmuring around her. As if they were… alive. At the thought, a shiver ran along her spine.

"Excuse me, but… what is… _hiding_ in the darkness?" Sigrid asked once she had reached the table and Scribonius

"I am not sure I want to know…" whispered Vicente, shooting worried glances around him.

"_Neither do I…"_ said the Voice, gulping.

At the question, Scribonius' eyes narrowed and a rather unpleasant gleam lighted his icy pupils. For the first time since they had met, Sigrid realized she was contemplating the _real_ Scribonius.

"Just… more darkness." the necromancer replied softly, a weird little smile playing on his face. Then, the little gleam disappeared suddenly and his face became as friendly as before. "And now, Lady Trencavel, would you mind giving to me the remarkable artifact you and your vampire friend refer to as the 'hourglass'?"

Sigrid nodded. She removed the hourglass she was still wearing as a pendant from around her neck and gave it to Scribonius.

"Fascinating…" he said, while examining the hourglass from all its angles. "Absolutely fascinating… I can't believed I am holding Clairvaux' Vessel in my unworthy hands." The old necromancer's voice was trembling with emotion and he looked like he was about to cry.

With great reverence, he put the hourglass on of the stone table, in the middle of a circle formed by...

"Black Soul gems…" Sigrid whispered.

"Yes, Black Soul Gems indeed…" replied the necromancer.

It was the first time Sigrid was able to see some, recognizing those extremely rare stones thanks to their purple black color. Such powerful necromantic artifacts had been prohibited by the Mage Guild, being the only magical gems in Tamriel able to capture the souls of the sapient species – Imperial, Breton, beast folks and the like. Actually, their prohibition was not so much based on the fact that Black Soul Gems could hold superior species' souls, but rather that capturing a spirit often implied killing someone at some point…

Obviously, the soul gems standing on the stone table were full, and Sigrid really did not want to know if Scribonius had captured those souls especially for her, or if he had a supply somewhere.

"Those Black Soul gems will help us to reactivate the hourgl… I mean, the Vessel." Scribonius continued while bustling about getting the ritual ready. "And once Clairvaux' soul safely locked in the Vessel, you should be able to join the Arcane University…" the necromancer commented while continuing preparing the ritual. "Or the ranks of Lord Mannimarco's devoted followers." he added with a smile.

Sigrid blinked at the words.

"Excuse me, but…? _Me_? Doing _magic_?"

"Well, yes, of cour…"

"No, no, wait a minute…" Sigrid interrupted, patting the necromancer on his chest with her finger. "You know who am I, don't you? I am Sigrid Trencavel, the only sapient creature on Nirn unable to do magic. And you still pretend that after having removed the Voi… Clairvaux' soul from my head, I will be able to do magic?

"But don't you know?" asked Scribonius, sounding surprised. "Your inability to practice magic is certainly linked to the presence of a second soul in your body."

It took Sigrid a few seconds to register and understand what Scribonius had just said. And for a bout a minute, she just stood there, looking awestruck, her jaw opening and closing mechanically as if she was trying to say something but could not.

"Indeed," continued the necromancer, who felt he had to give some explanation, "an individual's magic abilities are linked to his body's capacity to produce magical force, the _mana – _or vital energy, if you prefer. The thing is body, _mana_ and soul are intimately connected. The body produces mana, which is then consumed – but not completely – by the soul, which in return animates the body…"

"So, in short?" asked Sigrid, who had finally come back to her mind.

"Well, in your case, the presence of a second soul in your body is entirely consuming what is left of your _mana_, preventing you from doing magic… Er…"

The necromancer stopped as Sigrid's jaw brusquely clenched.

"And you are going to tell me you just forgot to mention that, aren't you" she growled between her gritted teeth.

It was Scribonius' turn to look quite astonished.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, sounding quite hurt.

A friendly hand fell on the necromancer shoulder.

"She is not talking to you, man." said Vicente Valtieri.

"But then, to whom is she…?" Scribonius stopped and his eyes popped out of his head. "Ooooh, do you mean she can communicate with Clairvaux' soul?"

"Yes. So just watch the show and enjoy!" said the vampire, continuing patting the necromancer on the shoulder.

In Sigrid's mind, the atmosphere was electric.

"_Well, er…"_ started the Voice, which had cowered into a corner of the girl's mind, looking very embarrassed.

"_Is that true?"_ she asked dryly, only mentally this time. _"Are you the reason why I can't do magic?"_

"_Yes."_

"_All these years, wondering why I remained unable to produce the simplest hex…"_ she whispered bitterly_. "Being considered as a freak… Just because of you… Why did not you tell me that?"_

"_Because if I had, you would have immediately tried to get rid off me! And I could not afford that!" _shrieked the Voice.

"_In case you had not noticed, this is exactly what I am going to do now!"_

"_But at least it is the timely moment! Now, we have the hourglass!"_ spat the Voice. _"Listen, I have not chosen you to harbor me at random! I needed someone a bit… particular, someone nor the Ankou nor Sithis could seek to kill when they felt like it! It took me hundreds and hundreds of years to finally find the right person…"_

"_But why did you choose me?"_

Sigrid almost slapped herself in the face when her own voice echoed in her head. She sounded like she was sniveling.

"_Because you are the one who had been chosen to close the jaws of Oblivion and defeat Merhunes Dagon! And until your deed is done, neither the Ankou nor Sithis will dare to undertake anything against you – and so me…"_

Sigrid's blood turned to ice.

"_You are using me as a human shield!?"_

The Voice remained silent, probably forecasting whatever the answer would be, it would make Sigrid burst out or loosing her mind like last time. And this was definitely not the moment…

"_How could you be sure I would join the Dark Brotherhood and get even the hourglass?"_ asked the girl in a breath. She was looking like she was making great effort not to scream.

"_That was a bit of a bet."_ admitted the Voice. _"You are definitely not a cold-blooded killer, Sigrid. But you finally killed Agronak gro-Malog in the Arena and the Brotherhood considered this to be a murder. Still, you were reluctant to join, so, I had to, er… force you a bit… But I swear did not have to push you much! "_ it quickly added. _"Your curiosity about Lucien Lachance made most of your decision to join…"_

Sigrid had a very sad laughed. So, once again, she had been framed.

"_Is there something, or someone on Nirn who is not trying to manipulate me?" _she thought ironically.

"_Well, there are Martin and Vicente, I think…" _replied the Voice carefully.

At the mention of the vampire's name, Sigrid brusquely came back to reality. She blinked and realized that Vicente and Scribonius were glaring at her.

"Are you all right, Sigrid?" asked Vicente, sounding rather concerned. "You have been… away for a few minutes…"

"Yeah, yeah, I am fine." the girl replied, passing a hand on her face. She took several deep breathes, then turned toward the necromancer and gave him a wide smile. "So, what next, Master Scribonius?"

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Antoinetta Marie was quite happy. She had found herself a nice little spot on one of the roofs overhanging the street, allowing her to look at the procession while keeping an eye on the necromancer's house and its surroundings.

She had been quite happy to have been chosen by Vicente to help him and Sigrid in their mission – even if she was still not sure why they had to see that necromancer.

Nevermind. She was enjoying herself a lot. It had been some time since she had been sent on a mission and she was starting to get really bored in the sanctuary. Actually, she had been very surprised when Vicente had told her to get ready to go with him. Antoinetta had always thought the vampire did not like her. He was always on her back, yelling at her, or making nasty comments about her cooking abilities…

Antoinetta muffled a yawned with her hand and stretched her back. The procession was almost over, and people were now starting to head toward the nearest pubs, in order to finish the night talking over a few drinks. But it seemed that not everyone had the same kind of plan for the rest of the evening…

Antoinetta frowned as she spotted small groups of five or six people walking upstream of the crowd. She would not have detected them if they had not tried really hard to be unnoticed. But unfortunately, they were definitely not good at it. Wearing large "over the eyes" woods and trying to conceal magic staffs by wrapping them in rags was probably not the best way to melt into the background.

The assassin narrowed her eyes and counted them quickly. Thirty. There were _thirty_ of them. Damn, quite a lot for a bunch innocent and harmless revelers…

And they were all converging toward Scribonius' house…

7777777777777777777

Standing in the middle of the table, the hourglass was gleaming like when Sigrid had touched it for the first time or when the Ankou had tried to catch it in Oblivion. The Black Soul gems were also shining, but it seemed that their light was fading slowly while the one of the hourglass was getting stronger.

"Now, slowly put your hands on the hourglass." said Scribonius.

Sigrid made a step toward the stone table, and turned toward the necromancer.

"Is that all I need to do? Are you sure it is going to work?"

"Yes. Master Clairvaux had done most of the job. As I said, all the hourglass needed was to get reactivated. So, put your hands on the Vessel for it to take the soul out of your body…"

Sigrid moved her hands toward the hourglass, but as she was about to touched it, she stopped. Strangely enough, she was a bit reluctant to get separated from the Voice. Learning that it had been manipulated her and was the reason behind her "magical handicap" had annoyed her more than she could say. But still, she could prevent herself thinking she was about to get amputated…

"_Are you sure you still want to do this?"_ Sigrid asked the Voice.

"_Well, do we have the choice?"_ the latter sighed. _"Go ahead, Sigrid. Do it. But please, promise me that once I will be stuck into the hourglass, you won't let me fall into the Ankou's or Sithis' hands…"_

"_I swear."_ said Sigrid, although not being really sure how she would keep her promise.

And without removing her eyes from the hourglass, she slowly lowered her hands toward the artifact and…

The door burst open violently and several hooded guys stepped in, pointing magic staffs at Sigrid, Scribonius and Vicente.

"Ah-_ah!_" yelled the one who was leading them. "You are trapped, you bunch of… of necromancers!"

Instinctively, the two men and the girl had gathered together. Vicente and Sigrid had drawn their swords and Scribonius' hands had started to glow, ready to throw curses at the intruders.

"Uh-oh…" said the necromancer, who, despite the situation, did not seem to be very worried. "It seemed we have been given away…"

"I thought Antoinetta was supposed to keep an eye on the surroundings…" said Sigrid between gritted teeth.

"So did I…" replied Vicente, frowning.

The mages drew forward the trio and the end of their magic staff started to glow.

"Aulius Scribonius, Sigrid Trencavel and…" The mage eyes stopped on Vicente and he made a pout. "And the mysterious hooded man, you are under arrest!"

"An idea to get out of here, Master Scribonius?" murmured Vicente from the corner of his mouth.

"Yes," the necromancer whispered back, "but I need a bit of time…"

"You will have it."

Scribonius nodded and started muttering some kind of incantation under his breath.

"So, we are under arrest, hey?" asked Vicente. "And may I ask you what the charges against us are?"

The leader of the mage laughed, quickly followed by the rest of the company.

"What are the charges? Are you making fun of me? You are dangerous necromancers!"

"Honestly, man, I would run away from here if I were you…" said Sigrid with an almost friendly tone in her voice.

While talking to their attackers, she was keeping an eye on the surroundings, and she would have been ready to swear that the shadows were now moving. Not much, but moving anyway. And the whispers were now more numerous and louder. She was not sure what it meant, but whatever it was, it was certainly not good new for the mages.

"Why?" sniggered the leading mage. "Do you really think that you will be able to win against a whole company of battle mages?"

"You know, I may be completely hopeless at magic," said Sigrid, pointing at the staff the man was holding, "but I am pretty sure you are holding that staff the wrong way…"

"How dare you…! What?" said the mage as one of his companions gave a cough.

"Er, I think she is right, Yohan. You are indeed holding it the wrong way…"

There was a pause, all mages' gaze riveted on Yohan's staff, which tip was aiming at _them_.

"Yeah, right…" Yohan mumbled, turning his staff the right way. "Now, drop you weapons and no one will…"

He stopped and frowned. The voices around them were not murmuring anymore, but talking rather loudly, and some of them were even screaming.

"Hey, what's going on?" said one of the mage, shooting worried glance around him.

There was a yell somewhere in the background – but this time, this one was coming from a human throat. All the mages turned around and Sigrid craned her neck to see what happened.

Where a battle mage had been standing a second before was only left his staff. As one man, Yohan's companions raised their head and realized that six very big and gleaming red eyes were contemplating them greedily.

"A Dark Chewer!" yelled one of the mage, pointing at the red eyes. "Talos help us! It's a Dark Chewer!"

Something looking like a huge black tentacle came out of the darkness and grabbed him around the waist. The mage struggled frantically to free from the dark limb, but failed. The tentacle lifted him easily from the ground and the shadows opened into a big, dark mouth spiked with sharp fangs. The tentacle then threw almost nonchalantly the screaming mage into the creature's jaws. And the Dark Chewer… chewed.

Panic seized the mages. Yohan started to yell orders, but no one was listening to him. Other tentacles were springing out of the shadows, grabbing more mages to satisfy the Dark Chewer enormous hunger.

"Let's go!" yelled Scribonius, running toward the exit.

The trio elbowed its way out of the laboratory, trying to avoid the tentacles as well as the panicked mages, when Sigrid brusquely fall on the floor as something had tackled her from behind.

"Got you, you bitch!" exclaimed a mage jubilantly as he was gripping her legs together firmly.

But his triumph was short. A blade suddenly pierced his neck and his eyes rolled upward. He then collapsed on Sigrid, who quickly pushed the corpse aside before reporting her attention on the silhouette who was standing in front of her.

"Antoinetta?"

"Yeah, sorry for being late." the latter replied, helping Sigrid getting back onto her feet. "The mages are here!"

"We had noticed, thank you!" replied Vicente, who had came back to help Sigrid. "You got lost on your way or what?"

"Yes, I got lost! You could have told me this house was enchanted, for Sithis' sake!" spat Antoinetta, ducking to avoid a stray curse. "And now, we must get out of here, and quick!"

"What a great idea! Another clever one cast in the same mould?"

"There is not much time for being sarcastic, Vicente!" exclaimed Sigrid, catching Antoinetta by her arm and pulling her toward the door. "Let's go before that… Dark Chewer stops being busy with the mages!"

"Don't worry, Lady Trencavel. My Dark Chewer only obeys me!" exclaimed Scribonius proudly.

"Well, I take your word for it!" said Sigrid, who really did not want to check whether it was the truth. "Now run!"

They finally managed to reach the gate, and when they crossed it, they heard the Dark Chewer burping hugely.

"_Damn, why did those stupid mages choose to intervene now?"_ Sigrid thought while running along the corridors of Scribonius' immense house. Just at the moment she was about to transfer Clairvaux' soul out of her body! But fortunately, the necromancer was still with them and she still had the…

Her jaw dropped and she started patting around her neck madly. But she knew it was not hanging around her neck anymore.

"The hourglass! We forgot it on the stone table!" she yelled.

And without waiting for an answer from her companions she turned back on her heels and started running in the direction of Scribonius' laboratory.

"Sigrid!" screamed Vicente. "Come back! We are dead if we don't get out of here now!"

"And I am dead if I don't get the hourglass back!" she yelled over her shoulder.

"Sigrid!" Vicente yelled again.

But it was too late. She already had disappeared in one of the corridors.

"_Oh, Night Mother! She is as stubborn as Rivanone was…"_ thought Vicente, boiling with rage.

He then turned around to face Scribonius and Antoinetta.

"Antoinetta! Take Scribonius with you and warn the Mistress of the Sanctuary and our Speaker of what happened!"

"I am not leaving you two behind!" the young assassin protested.

The vampire rolled his eyes and stretched his arms Aetheriuswards.

"Is there any member in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary that can take orders without arguing?"

"But…"

"I said clear off here, for Sithis' sake!" roared the vampire.

Vicente then hissed menacingly and bared his fangs at Antoinetta. She quickly moved backward, retreating so quickly she almost fell on the ground, her eyes wide in fear and surprise.

"Now, go!" he growled. "I will try to hold them back as long as I can."

Antoinetta frantically nodded ascent and quickly ran away, dragging the necromancer behind her. Vicente watched them vanishing into the shadows and started running in the direction of the laboratory – or at least, what he thought to be the right direction. He could not remember the way, but as a vampire, his senses – especially his sense of smell – were extremely developed, and all he had to do was to follow Sigrid's scent.

He finally slowed down when he heard some screams somewhere in front of him. A few feet away, Sigrid was fighting with five mages, and she clearly was getting the worst of it.

"Get out of me!" she screamed, struggling like mad to push away the mages who were trying to immobilize her.

"Arrrggh, she bit me!" one mage yelled, shaking on of his hand in pain.

"Don't you dare to touch me…!" the girl roared, kicking randomly to try to free herself from the mages' grip.

But it was already too late. Two of her aggressors had managed to twist her arms in her back and she felt the coldness of steeled handcuffs being locked around her wrists and ankles.

"A-_hem_, excuse me?" said Vicente, removing his hood and mask and smiling at the mages in a very friendly way. "But would you mind letting my friend go? Otherwise, I am afraid I will have to cut your throats and let you bleed to death."

The mages and Sigrid stopped struggling and looked at Vicente with eyes like saucers.

"Vampire!" exclaimed the youngest and most impressionable mage, pointing at Vicente.

"Yeah, we know…We are not blind." replied one of his companions, rolling his sleeves up and getting ready to cast a spell.

Drawing his huge Dwemer's blade, the vampire rushed on Sigrid's aggressors without making a sound, and simultaneously, most of the mages took a step back. A charging vampire was definitely a scary thing, but a silent and much focused one was even scarier.

Moving incredibly fast, Vicente easily dodged the few curses the boldest – or the most reckless – mages threw at him, then jumped in the air and neatly split open the skull of the closest one. Blood and other body secretions maculated the ground as well as the face of his neighbors, who started to yell in fear and disgust. But they did not get the time to show their repugnance more, as Vicente's blade quickly cut their head or open their belly. Having cleared the way, he then rushed toward Sigrid.

"Get up!" yelled Vicente, grabbing the girl by one of her arm. "Let's get out of here!"

The vampire could hear the sounds of running footsteps, and he did not want to loose more time here. Who knew how many mages had survived the Dark Chewer's attack? Vicente certainly could deal with five mages, but more than that would be suicide.

Pulled back on her feet by the vampire, Sigrid stood up awkwardly, trying to get her balance back, but failed because of her chained ankles.

"Ah, crap!" said Vicente, rolling his eyes.

Well, no time to play the blacksmith. The vampire kneeled on the ground and put Sigrid on his shoulder when he heard the girl screaming.

"Vicente, watch out!"

The vampire turned around and saw what looked like a small transparent ball flying in the air and coming toward him at high speed. He started up a parry with his blade but it was too late. The thing hit him in the chest and immediately exploded as a result. A thick liquid spread on his shirt and face, and a strong scent invaded his nostrils. Slightly puzzled, he put his hand on his chest and when he removed it, it was covered in an oily substance reeking of…

"_Garlic…"_ he thought. _"Oh, by Sithis, this is garlic…"_

Vampires were supposed to have an inherent weakness to garlic. This belief was so widespread among common folks that many peasants had taken the habit to hang cloves of garlic on the door of their house. But unfortunately, like many things in popular lore, it was simply not true. No vampire had never, _ever _been sensitive to garlic. Well, no vampire, apart from Vicente Valtieri…

Despite all his research, he had never been able to find out why he was plagued with such a curse. Even Rivanone Trencavel and Janus Hassildor – both extremely skilled alchemists – had remained unsuccessful to work out a reasonable explanation for this exceptional weakness. Every time Vicente came into contact with garlic – either touching, eating or smelling it – he irremediably suffered from a loss of energy and strength. And even if he had never pushed the experiment so far, he was convinced that a long exposure to garlic would provoke irremediably his death…

The liquid with which Vicente had been splashed with was certainly a concentrated solution of garlic essence, and the vampire felt his head starting to spin. He collapsed on his knees, breathing heavily. Sigrid had fallen on the ground by him, and she was telling him something, but Vicente could only see her lips moving as no sounds seemed to be able to reach his ears.

The surroundings soon started to blur, and the last picture Vicente saw before losing consciousness was a pair of boots standing before his face while more pairs of boots were dragging Sigrid away from him.

"So, our informer was right." said Yohan, pushing Vicente with his foot to make him roll on his back. "I thought it was a joke first, but this vampire is really sensitive to garlic. I have never seen that in my life before!"

"Neither have I…" said a feminine voice coming from a hooded figure.

Her mage robes were covered in blood, but she seemed to be unarmed.

"Should I kill him, Master?" asked Yohan, pointing his mage staff toward the vampire's head.

A ball of pure energy materialized on the tip of the staff.

"Hmm, no. As you said, he is a rather unique case, and the Archmage may be happy to have the opportunity to study him alive." The woman considered the unconscious figure on the floor. "Fine. Tie him up and gag him. He is going to keep Trencavel company…"

"Leave him alone!" spat Sigrid, struggling against the mages who were keeping her kneeling on the ground.

The female mage turned toward the girl and took her hood off, revealing the delicate and arrogant features of Mahaut Montfort.

"Why, Lady Trencavel, what a pleasant surprise!" she exclaimed, as if she had just realized Sigrid was there.

"You disgusting slut!" roared Sigrid. "How did you manage to find…?"

Sigrid was silenced abruptly as one of the mage standing behind her stuffed a piece of cloth in her mouth and then firmly covered it with another folded rag he knotted behind her neck.

"Hush, my dear cousin!" Mahaut said, patting an infuriated Sigrid on the cheek. "You and your little friends have done us a lot of harm, and you will have to pay for this. But I have more important things to deal with now. So, where is the Vessel…? Ah, here it is!" she exclaimed as one of the mage walked toward her. He bowed and handed her the hourglass.

"The Dark Chewer is dead, Master Mahaut. But I am afraid we have lost many men…"

"Take care of the wounded. Then with the rest of the fit men, just make sure that none of the creatures this house shelters stays alive…"

She then took the hourglass and examined it thoughtfully for a while, before putting it on the ground.

"Fetch me Umbra, please." she ordered.

Another mage appeared, carrying a long metallic box. He put it on the ground by the hourglass and opened it. The box was containing a dark sword which blade was engraved with dark runes.

Mahaut took the blade with great care and ran a finger along its edge. At the contact, the blade started to gleam and the runes began to contort in a repulsive and obscene ballet. She then turned toward Sigrid, a very unpleasant, almost sadistic grin on her lips.

"Now, let's see which one of the two artifacts is the strongest…"

Mahaut raised the Umbra sword over her head, and hissing, the blade cleaved thought the air toward the hourglass.

There was a sudden buzzing sound and the hourglass, in an attempt to protect itself, generated an energy shield in a flash of light.

"Come on, Umbra!" shrieked Mahaut, baring her teeth and banging even harder on the energy shield. "You can do it! _Destroy the hourglass!_"

Apparently spurred by Mahaut's encouragements, Umbra started to yell twice as loud and the aura around the blade became stronger. There another flash of light when the energy field vanished in a _whooom!_ sound, allowing Umbra to hit the upper part of the artifact.

And at the contact, the hourglass, along with Sigrid's and the Voice's hopes, shattered into pieces.

77777777777777777777

Count Janus Hassildor was hurrying along the Imperial Place corridors, Furball on his heels. As usual, the little dog was barking happily while sniffing all over the place and… slobbering. Hassildor had hesitated for a long time before taking his beloved pet with him. Furball was a very nice dog, but the Count was currently staying at the Palace and he did not want to provoke a diplomatic incident by having his pet breaking some very delicate and rare pieces of furniture…

While walking, the Count tidied his black and burgundy robes around him and made sure his hood was covering most of his face. A lot of the nobles of the Elder Council were mages and thus knew he was a vampire. But this was not the case of most of the Palace servants and guards, which was the reason why Janus Hassildor had to remain very, very careful.

"Lord Hassildor!" someone yelled behind him.

The Count stopped and turned around. Something looking like a huge ball wrapped up in a set of robes – which colors would have give an headache even to a bunch of Khajiits under Moon Sugar acid – was runn…no,_ rolling_ toward him.

As the ball was drawing forward, Janus Hassildor recognized the friendly face of Master Ontus Vanin. The mage looked like he had run a long way, sweat streaming along his face and breathing heavily.

"Good morning, Master Vanin." said the Count politely. "Late as well, I see…"

"Don't tell me about it." replied Vanin, trying to catch his breath back. "I have just learnt by one of the servant who is working in the kitchen that a meeting was being held this morning! Seems the messenger who was supposed to warn me got lost..."

The Count scratched his chin.

"Funny, mine appeared to have been unable to find me as well…" he said softly, a little smile playing on his thin lips. "Even if I am staying at the Palace."

The two men exchanged a known look. Apparently, someone really did not want them to attend today's meeting. And they both had a vague idea on who this "someone" may be…

"Shall we go, then?" grinned Vanin. "I can't wait to see Ocato's face when he will see us entering the room…"

"We may not be able to enter like that, you know." Hassildor observed, while starting to walk again, quickly followed by Furball. "After all, our dear Chancellor seemed to be really determined to prevent us attending today's session…"

Ontus Vanin followed the Count and the trio walked stiffly along the corridors, until they reached the imposing gate which lead to the Elder Council. Once there, and as Janus Hassildor has expected, they found themselves facing a guard who was standing right in front of the door.

"I am Count Janus Hassildor of Skingrad, member of the Council of Mages and of the Council of the Elders. And this is Master Ontus Vanin." said the Count, planting himself in front of the legionnaire. "We would like to attend the meeting which is currently being held inside, if you don't mind…"

The guard raised his eyebrows.

"I am sorry, my Lord." he said. "But the meeting has already begun and no one is allowed in anymore. Chancellor Ocato's orders"

"Do you know to whom you are talking to, young man?"

The guard shifted, ill-at-ease. Everyone was very familiar with the hooded figure of Janus Hassildor, Count of Skingrad. There were a lot of stories running on him, and he was not especially looking forward to check if they were true…

"Yes I do, my Lord. But my orders are clear. No one is allowed in once the Council has started."

While Hassildor was arguing with the legionnaire, Ontus Vanin frowned as he examined the young guard's face.

"Hey, I have seen you before!" exclaimed the mage cheerfully, pointing at the legionnaire. "You are one of the guys I sent flying across that very door a few days ago!"

"Er…"

"Poor guy! You always seem to end up in this kind of tricky situation…" said Vanin, shaking his head in a parody of sympathy. "And where is your distinguished Imperialinist friend? Still resting in the hospital wing?"

"Well, actually…"

The young guard stopped as he brusquely felt his boots getting wet. He looked down and immediately wished he had not. Being astride his feet, a small white and fluffy thing was quietly finishing to pee.

"Oh, I am _so_ confused." said the Count, not looking sorry at all. "I am afraid Furball has a prostate problem."

The young guard's face turned very red and the muscle of his jaw tensed up, but he did not dare to reply anything. As for Furball, ignoring the fact that he was being the center of all attention, he yawned, stretched and was about to walk away when he suddenly stopped and looked very constipated.

"Hmm, seems our little furry friend has intestinal issues as well…" commented Vanin in a conversational voice.

"What? _What?_" asked the guard in a panicked voice. "What do you mean?"

The dog had put himself back into his strategic position and now looked like he was pushing very hard. The legionnaire rolled his eyes, trying to find a way to get out of this rather complicated situation. But he seemed he was doomed either to disobey for a second time a direct order from Chancellor Ocato or to endure the humiliation of seeing his lovely uniform being crapped by the silliest and the most bad-mannered dog on Nirn.

"Gnnnnh…!" groaned Furball, looking very concentrated and slobbering twice more because of the effort.

This seemed to act as an electric choc on the guard. He jumped in the air, shaking his feet frantically and yelling hysterically.

"All right! _All right_! You can get in!" he spat. "But, please, take that awful thing away from me!" he then shrieked, gesturing toward the little dog, who was now barking cheerfully at him.

"Glad to see you are finally being reasonable." said the Count, picking up Furball from the ground and crossing the door. "Good day to you!"

"Thanks a lot, m'boy!" exclaimed Vanin, patting the guard on the cheek as he passed by him. "You are a nice bloke."

The old mage then quickly caught up with Hassildor and gave him a huge slap in the back. The Count winced but did not say anything. Vanin was lucky Janus liked him, because if anyone else had done that, he would be looking for his arm. On the floor and bathing in a pool of blood.

"Oh, by the Nine Divines, that was awesome!" said Vanin with an evil grin, scratching Furball under the chin. "Did I say I loved your pet?"

"No, but you don't need to. Everybody loves Furball." replied the Count, grinning back as they were crossing the anti-chamber. "The trouble is my poor dog is going to have to do his business in the Council's room now. Tss, tss, what a shame...Hope it won't annoy anyone, though."

"Nah, not likely!" sniffed Vanin scornfully as they entered the Elders Council room. "There are plenty of areseholes already inside, so…"

Hassildor and Vanin's entrance in the Council of the Elders did not go unnoticed. Chancellor Ocato was talking but interrupted himself as they got in. All heads – and there were many of them – turned as one man toward the newcomers. Some seemed happy and relieved, a few sneered, but most of the persons in the assembly remained carefully neutral.

"Ah, so you have finally decided to join us, gentlemen…" said the soft and very musical voice of Chancellor Ocato.

He was now warily examining the duo of latecomers. The Count did not move a muscle and glared back at Ocato. As all High Elves, Chancellor Ocato was always perfectly groomed, his mid-long brown hair carefully plastered down his head and his golden-brown gleaming eyes delicately underlined by a hint of kohl.

"Well, we would have been happy to join the meeting earlier, Excellence." started Hassildor in a very sweet voice, breaking the heavy silence which had fallen upon the assembly. "But it seems that the messengers you sent to warn us of the time of the meeting got lost on their way. Shame, isn't it?"

"Indeed." replied Ocato. The Chancellor's face was perfectly neutral, and Hassildor only could admire his perfect self-control. "Well, now we have the pleasure to have you two among us, would you mind to take a sit?"

Hassildor nodded graciously and walked toward his reserved seat, followed again by Vanin and Furball. The Count sat down, but Vanin was unable to imitate him as there were no more free seats around. Then, the old mage eye's fall upon a young noble, whose face was covered in pimples and who was sitting right by Hassildor. Vanin put a friendly hand on the boy's shoulder and beamed at him.

"Hey, be a pal and make a bit of room for an old man, will you?"

"Hey, but I was here first!" protested the young man.

"I really like your good manners, you know!" said Vanin cheerfully. "Now, let me show you mine!"

And with a supple movement of his big and fat belly, he pushed the young man out of his seat and then took his place.

"Thanks, man! You are pal…" he said, grinning and patting the teenage noble on the head.

"This was my seat!" screamed the boy, almost in tears.

"Be quiet!" spat Hassildor. "I am trying to listen to what Ocato is saying…"

The Chancellor had indeed resumed his speech and he was shooting very annoyed glances in their direction.

"So, as I was saying before I got… _interrupted_," started Ocato, "I have received another letter from Martin Septim this morning."

At the words, the room started buzzing in effervescence. Ocato stopped once more and raised his hands in an appeasing manner for the calm to come back.

"Yes, my friends, I understand you are quiet exited, but I am afraid this is not good news at all."

He took a paper which was standing on a pile on the table in front of him and then show it to the assembly.

"Here is his message. I think I should read it to you. It is rather short but I think it will allow you to understand the gravity of the situation…"

The Chancellor cleared his throat and started to read.

"To the Council of the Elder,

I have been deeply disappointed by your reaction toward my legitimate claim as the true heir of the Dragon Throne.

I am only demanding my due and your odious blackmail won't make me change my mind.

I therefore maintain my original claim and hope that Akatosh and Talos, in their mercy, will show you the right way.

Otherwise, I will defend my rights with fire and steel.

Martin Septim."

A heavy and meaningful silence followed, suddenly broke by shouts.

"How dares he!" yelled an old man, shaking his fists in a threatening way.

"I can't believe the filthy bastard is threatening us!" screamed another.

"This is nothing less than a declaration of war, I daresay!"

There was a roar of approval and some even started to applause.

"Er, excuse me?" said a voice, trying to make itself heard above the hubbub.

Ocato sighed and made a gesture to bring the calm back.

"Yes, Master Vanin?"

"I am sorry, Excellence, but I must have missed several episodes." said the old mage, scratching his head and making a pout. "What the hell is Septim talking about? In his last letter, he was very polite and all, and now, he is talking about blackmail and killing everyone that may stand in his way…"

The Chancellor raised an eyebrow.

"So?"

"Well, my question is: what happened in between the two missives?"

For the first time, Ocato looked rather embarrassed.

"Well, a few recent events took place a few days ago, which forced me to send Septim a letter saying the Council of the Elders could not approve his claim."

There was an awkward pause, suddenly broke by a scream of fear and disgust.

"Arrgh! There is _something _drooling on my feet!"

"Furball, stop that." said Hassildor absentmindedly. "So, Excellence, if I understand you well, you are basically telling us that you took such a crucial initiative in the name of the Council, but without informing us?"

There was another embarrassed silence. All glances were now riveted on Ocato, eagerly waiting for an explanation. The latter scowled and was about to reply something when he got interrupted by Archmage Hannibal Traven, who was sitting next to him.

"This was necessary, I am afraid. The events mentioned by Chancellor Ocato demanded a swift reaction. We could not loose time convening the Council and then discuss the issue."

"Yeah, whatever!" growled Vanin. "All you wanted was to put his in front of the fait accompli!"

Count Hassildor put a friendly and appeasing hand on Vanin's arm and narrowed his eyes at Hannibal Traven.

"And won't you mind to tell us a bit more about those late developments which necessitated such haste, Archmage?"

"Of course not." replied Traven, smiling in a way that made a shiver running along Hassildor's and Vanin's spine. "Well, a few days ago…"

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Sitting on her dirty straw mattress, Sigrid was fighting against fear and despair to take over her mind. The cold light of the dawn had come through the window about an hour ago, saluting her sixth day of captivity in the Imperial prison.

She was trying not to think about the rather humiliating questioning session that took place at the Mage Guild a few days ago.

She had been forced to tell a few senior mages – among whose Archmage Hannibal Traven – everything she knew about the Ankou and the hourglass. But they had refused to believe that she was more a victim that the actual culprit in the story, and they had even accused her of using the Ankou as an excuse to have dealings with the necromancers and get from them a bit of the magical power she was cruelly lacking.

Actually, the most mortifying thing had not been the fact that they did not believe her and made a few vicious comments about her magic inability, but that the Montfort siblings were there to enjoy the show. And they did not make any effort to hide their pleasure.

After that, she had been brought to the Imperial Prison, and had spent the last few days trying to look for a possible way of escaping. But, of course, there was none, and this time, she won't be able to rely on a fleeing emperor and a secret passage to allow her to escape…

In the cell opposite her, Vicente was lying motionless on his mattress. He was conscious but the garlic had taken away all his stamina, and he could not even sit up right. His very pale skin had turned into a nasty shade of grey, and he hissed when breathing. If he had not been an undead, Sigrid would have thought he was about to give up the ghost.

"Sigrid… Stop it… Please…"

Vicente's voice was broken with painful hisses which made Sigrid winced in concern.

"Stop what?"

"Chewing over… what happened... You are radiating… despair… I can feel it from here."

Sigrid had a sad laugh.

"Well, I hope you will excuse me if I feel a bit down at the moment!"

"I am sure Antoinetta… have managed to escape. By now, J'Ghasta and Lucien must be pondering… over… one of their clever plans."

Sigrid banged her fist against the bars in rage and despair.

"They are from the Brotherhood, Vicente!" she spat. "They are not from the Legion and their creed is certainly not 'we ever leave anyone behind'!"

She bit her lips and her arms fell back at her side as she suddenly felt both very stupid and unfair. Gods, Vicente was trying to cheer her up, and all she was doing was being aggressive. But she was feeling so weary and disoriented.

"And even if it was the case," she continued in a softer voice, "I am doomed. The hourglass had been broken. So, if I am not executed by the Mage Guild for being a necromancer, the Ankou will make sure I die in due time so he will get his soul back!"

"There is… still… the Umbra…" said Vicente, wheezing more than ever.

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning.

"If… the Umbra had been… able to destroy the hourglass… it may have the… ability." A of very bad coughing fit interrupted him. "…the ability to destroy the Ankou… himself."

Sigrid sighed and leaned against the wall, looking at the ceiling. She had already contemplated this possibility, but that was implying first to find a way to get out of prison alive, and two to get the Umbra. And those two prerequisites would be extremely hard to satisfy.

"You may be right." she sighed, pouting. "Ah, well, we'll see. For the moment, we have more urgent problems to deal with… Do you feel any better?"

Even if she could not see his face, Sigrid could perfectly picture the smile which was certainly playing on Vicente's lips.

"As well… as a vampire allergic… to garlic… can feel…"

"I am so sorry, Vicente." Sigrid whispered. "This is my entire fault. I should not have implied you into my problems…"

She had to stop as she felt tears coming up to her eyes. She quickly mopped them away with the grimy sleeve of her prisoner's uniform, and frowned when she heard some noises coming from the stairs. Apparently, people were getting down the prison, which was quite surprising because apart from the guard who was bringing them food once a day – or rather, when he thought about it – and who was spreading garlic essence over Vicente regularly, they had not received any kind of visit since they had been locked in the Imperial Prison.

"I am really going to get into trouble, you know…" grumbled a male voice Sigrid had never heard before.

"And you know what? We _so_ don't care!" exclaimed another male voice, sounding much older and very cheerful.

"By the way, I am looking for a dog sitter for Furball." a third voice said. "Would you be interested?"

"There is no need to get nasty!" shrieked the first voice.

Sigrid craned her necks to try to see who their visitors were. Standing in the prison corridor was a legionnaire, who was framed by two men. One was very short, fat and wearing a very flashy set of mage robes, whereas the second one was tall and dressed in long dark-red robes which hood was almost covering entirely his face.

"Sigrid Trencavel?" asked the chubby man.

"Yes?" she asked suspiciously. "What do you want?"

The two men were certainly mages, which was not reassuring Sigrid much.

"Oh, I am so glad to meet you!" boomed the mage. "I am Master Ontus Vanin, from the Mage Guild, and this is Count Janus Hassildor of Skingrad."

Sigrid glared at the hooded figure curiously. She had been to Skingrad a few times with her grandmother when she was a child, as the Count seemed to particularly enjoy Rivanone Trencavel's performances. But each time her grandmother had sung for him and his court, the Count had stayed hidden behind a folding screen.

"I am glad to meet you too, Master Vanin, but you still have not replied to my question." Sigrid said curtly. "What do you want?"

"Well, er…" started Vanin, rather taken aback by the girl aggressiveness.

"We are here to see if we can help you or make your stay in prison a bit more comfortable." said the Count gently.

While Hassildor was talking, a small white and fluffy dog had materialized from behind his legs and started sniffing at Sigrid's hands before licking them with great enthusiasm.

"And why would you help us?" asked Sigrid, scratching mechanically the dog's head. "I am afraid we have nothing to offer you in exchange of your help."

The Count smiled and turned toward the legionnaire.

"Thank you a lot." he told him. "Now you may go…"

"But I can't leave you two alone with the prisoners, my Lord!" protested the guard.

"Furball…!" called out the Count.

"Rigth! Rigth! I am leaving!"

The legionnaire did not need to be told twice and he rushed out of the Prison as if Dagon's hordes were on his heels.

"Now we are alone, my dear Trencavel," said the Count while removing his hood from his face, "you are going to see what very few people have seen."

Sigrid gasped at the sight of Hassildor's face. The very pale skin… The fangs… the red eyes…

"You are a…?"

"A vampire, yes" said Hassildor in a conversational voice. "And also a very good friend of Vicente Valtieri and your late grandmother."

Janus Hassildor then turned toward Vicente's cell. When he heard his master's friend name, Furball lost interested in Sigrid's hands and rushed toward the other cell. He started barking happily, but stopped when he realized that something was wrong.

"So, how are you my friend?" asked the Count, pushing a now moaning Furball aside gently.

"Fine, Janus… This place is… just so great!" replied Vicente in a weary voice. "We have… banquets every night and… beautiful and naked… cabaret dancers. You should… really join…us."

The Count had a sad laugh and his red eyes narrowed as he spotted something tied up on the bars of Vicente's cells.

"Garlic?" he snarled, snatching the cloves from the bars and crumbled them between his pale and thin fingers.

"Yes." said Sigrid, shaking her head. "They come here everyday to add some fresh ones and to spread him with some garlic essence…"

"Well, at least, those won't harm any him anymore." the Count growled.

A flame sprang out his hand and the garlic cloves burnt in a puff of smoke.

"Is there anything else we can do for you?" asked Vanin, turning his attention back on Sigrid. "Apart from getting you out of here, of course…" he added with a small smile.

"Just go and find Martin Septim, please." begged Sigrid. "Tell him what's going on there. Tell him everything about me and this affair with the necromancers."

Sigrid wished she could also tell Vanin how sorry she felt for having hurt Martin when he proposed her and how now she realized she had been stupidly cruel and selfish…

But at the mention of Martin's name, Ontus' face had become very dark and Hassildor started to cough as if something had got stuck down his throat.

"What?" Sigrid asked. "What do you make such a sad face? Has something happened to him?"

Vanin turned toward the Count and the two exchanged a long and very embarrassed look.

"No, don't worry, my child. Marin Septim is quite fine." said Janus Hassildor darkly. "But I am afraid he won't be of any help…"

"Fancy that!" exclaimed a very familiar voice behind him. "What do we have here? Wouldn't that be Vanin and Hassildor, our infamous duo?"

All eyes turned toward the sound of the voice. Foulques Montfort was standing in the corridor, arms crossed on his chest, a sneer on his face and the light of the torches making his blond hair looking like it was on fire. Behind him, half-hidden in the shadows, were standing five tall and well built men, who had "hello-I-am-a-dangerous-bully!" written all over their face.

Furball's moans turned into a deep growl when he spotted Foulques.

"Ah, yes." continued the young man, looking at the dog with scorn. "I forgot about the slobbering fleabag…"

"Montfort!" snarled Vanin. "What are you doing here?"

The boy's face took a false innocent expression.

"What am I doing here? But just my job, my dear Ontus!" His lips curled up in a very nasty smile. "I have just been designated by the Council to announce Trencavel the noble assembly's decision concerning her fate."

"You awful little…" growled Vanin, looking for an adequate insult, but unable to find a good one. "You just love it, don't you?"

"Love what? Being a sadistic bastard? But of course!" He burst out laughing, quickly imitated by his bunch of thugs. "And may I ask you what you are doing here - without any official permission, o Master Big Fat Slob?"

"The same thing as you, Master Foulques." Hassildor replied softly, while grabbing Vanin by his shoulder to prevent him from jumping at the young man's throat. "But with far less enthusiasm…"

"Let me go! Let me smash his disgusting little face against the wall!" roared Vanin, trying helplessly to free his shoulder from Hassildor's grip.

"Enough, Vanin!" spat the Count. "And I think it is time for us to go. Lady. Gentlemen."

The Count bowed ironically to Foulques, before leaving without shooting a glance backward and dragging behind him a rather upset Ontus Vanin.

"Ah, finally alone for the family reunion!" Foulques exclaimed once he was sure they were alone. "So, how are you, my dear cousin?" he asked ironically, walking toward Sigrid and opening his arms in a mocking friendly embrace.

"Don't go anywhere near me," she snarled, leaning against the wall, "or else…"

Foulques sneered and his cronies burst out in a nasty laugh.

"Or else what, Sigrid? Your beloved Bastard is going to come to kick my ass?" said Foulques ironically. "He is not going to come to save you. Don't you find highly suspicious that, after you have been locked down here for six days, you still have not heard from him?"

"Martin doesn't know I am here!" she spat. "Just wait until he finds out...!"

"Oh, but he already knows, my dear!" exclaimed Foulques, handing her a piece of paper. "Take a look at this…"

Sigrid snatched it from his hands, read it, and Foulques saw surprise and lack of understanding getting written all over her face.

"As you can see, there is the official seal of the Septim at the bottom of the letter…" Foulques noticed.

"Blackmail?" Sigrid asked, raising an interrogative eyebrow at her cousin. "What does he mean?"

"Well, this is extremely simple!" said Foulques cheerfully. "A few days ago, just after your capture, Chancellor Ocato sent Septim an ultimatum: he would drop his claim to the throne or you will die…"

Sigrid blood turned to ice.

"You are lying…" she whispered.

"And you know the best part?" boasted Foulques, ignoring Sigrid's comment. "Sacrificing you for the Imperial throne is not going to help your Bastard much, you see. Our plan was designed in such a way that whatever his choice may be, he was screwed!"

"No." Sigrid said gulping and shaking her head in disbelief. "This is not true…"

"Indeed," continued Foulques, who was clearly enjoying himself, "the people who liked him will now think he is a complete bastard for having let you down. As for the others, those who were already defiant of him, they may now be able to argue that they would not support an Emperor who has been helped by a necromancer and an assassin? - Oh, don't look at me like that, please! Yes, we also know about your affiliation to the Brotherhood…"

"You are lying!" yelled Sigrid, screwing up angrily Martin's letter in her hands. "Martin can't have done this!"

"No, I am not lying, and you know it." his cousin hissed maliciously. "Nobody is going to come to save you, Trencavel! You don't have any protectors left… And you are going to die." his lips curled up in a malevolent sneer. "You will be executed in two days, on Talos Plaza, and be sure I will be there to see your head rolling into the dust… And when you will be dead, I will take care of your two lovers. First, I will torture your little Bastard to death until he implores me to put an end to his miserable life. Then, I will hang up your dear friend Lachance by his guts. And after that, you will never ever haunt my dream, you whore."

Sigrid had to lean against the wall as it seemed her legs could not support her anymore. Foulques laughed, taking great pleasure at his cousin's obvious distress

"Awww, looks like someone needs a hug…" he said with a cruel smile.

And before Sigrid could make a move, he caught her by her shoulders, and pinning her against the wall, he kissed her. The girl felt her stomach heaving at the contact of Foulques' lips on hers. In a reflex, she threw her knee into some very sensitive part of his anatomy and, as he was retreating, groaning in pain and holding his crotch with his hands, she slapped him in the face. Twice. And very hard.

Foulques' brutes starting coming forward to protect their master, growling and making their knuckles creaking, but the boy raised a hand to stop them.

"No!" he said, breathing heavily in pain. "No. Don't."

His fingertips brushed his cheeks where Sigrid had smacked him. Her nails had left three blooded scratches in his skin.

"You know, I wish I could beat you senseless for that." he said, looking at his own blood maculating his fingers. "But I can't. Ocato and Traven would be quite displeased to see the star attraction of the New Year's festivities being spoiled. On the other hand, your vampire friend is another story…"

Foulques turned toward his men and snapped his fingers.

"Guys, take the vampire out of his cell…I think a bit of exercise will do him some good."

Sigrid's eyes grew wide in terror when she realized what was going to happen.

"No, Foulques. No! Leave him out of this!"

She jumped forward in an attempt to get out of her cell, but Foulques got into her way and pushed her back violently. Behind him, the bullies had opened Vicente's cells and were now dragging him outside.

"So guys, would you like to see how this vampire is reacting to garlic?" asked Foulques.

His men cheered and the young man retrieved a little bottle from on of his pockets. He then uncorked it and handed it to the nearest thug, who started to pour its content on the vampire face.

"Stop that!" screamed Sigrid. "You are going to kill him!"

"Oh really?" asked Foulques, looking falsely concerned. "Too bad!"

On the ground, Vicente's eyes were now open wide and he was twisting on the ground, holding his throat with his hands and gaping as if he could not breathe anymore.

"Hmm, maybe you should add a bit more garlic essence?" wondered Foulques. "He still doesn't look dead enough for me…"

"No! Please!" Sigrid begging him, collapsing on her knees at his feet. "Leave him alone. Please." she whispered, tears of rage and helplessness filling up her eyes. "Leave him alone, and I… I will do whatever you want. I swear."

"Sigrid, no…!" said Vicente in a hoarse that turned into a scream of pain when one of the thugs kicked him violently in the ribs.

"Oh, so you are finally decided to be sensible, aren't you?" asked Foulques.

He then bent forward her and took her chin in his hand, driving his nails in the tender skin of her cheeks.

"Don't worry." he murmured, smiling as he saw pain in her eyes. "I am pretty sure you are going to like it as much as I am going to do…"

777777777777777777777

At the entrance of the Imperial prison, Ontus Vanin was telling Janus Hassildor in colorful terms what he thought of his attitude

"What's wrong with you?!" yelled Vanin. "I thought the vampire and the girls' grandmother were friends of yours!"

"They are, Vanin." replied Hassildor as patiently as he could. "This is not the problem."

"What it is, then?! Why did you hold me back?!" asked Vanin, shaking a finger under the Count's nose. "You perfectly now what that sick bastard is going to do to them! You should have let me kill him!"

This time, the Count lost his temper. He had been enduring Vanin's insults for more than ten minutes, and this was far much he could normally cope with.

"Yes, and you would have ended up in prison, you big moron!" roared Hassildor. "And without saving anyone! What a very clever plan indeed!"

Vanin turned very red in the face looked as if he had eaten something very sour. Somewhere behind him, ignoring the two men's arguments, Furball had stopped running after a butterfly and was now chasing his tail.

"You are a good man, Ontus." said the Count, a bit gentler this time. "Not a killer. And you have to admit that getting rid of Foulques – now or later on – will not solve our problems…"

"What do you propose then?" grumbled the old mage, looking as if he was sulking. "To sit on our asses, and watch Traven and the Montforts triumphing?

The Count sighed and looked at the sky. Damn, why things had to be so complicated? When he woke up this morning, this was such a beautiful and nice day…

"There are not too many solutions, I am afraid." the vampire finally said. "One of us needs to go Bruma and find Septim, in order to try to make him make up his mind…"

"I will go. You have more influence in the Council than I do." said Vanin dryly. "But don't fool yourself! Septim is going to refuse. He cannot change his mind now he has sent his letter to the Council of the Elders…"

"You are probably right" said the Count, massaging his temples with his fingertips. The sunshine was starting to give him a nasty headache. "At least try to prevent him for taking any kind of…unfortunate action."

"And what will you do in the meanwhile?"

"Try to see if I can work something out with Ocato." The Count stopped and looked very thoughtful. "I don't know why, but I have the feeling the Chancellor may not be as in control of the situation as he may seem…"


	20. The Rescue I

**Chapter 20**

**I AREN'T DEAD:B**

**My biggest apologies for not having updated earlier… The last weeks had been pretty crazy, and finding a bit of free time to write has been almost impossible…**

**This chapter was initially supposed to be longer, but I finally decided to break it into two parts. So, here is part one. If some things seem a bit unclear, they will be explained in the next chapter. ;)**

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The wolf was walking in the snow, which was creaking softly under its paws. On the watch, his yellow eyes were scanning the surroundings carefully, trying to identify between the dark silhouettes of the trees a potential foe, a potential dinner – or the two at once.

The wolf was an old, solitary one, an animal which had been cast away from his pack and had been forced to learn how to survive alone. Its fur, scattered with grayish scars, showed how it had gone through hard times. It had been hunted – both by its fellow creatures and the humans – many times before, and it had gone through long period of starvation as well. But the last months had been particularly testing.

Things had really started to worsen when started to appear those strange luminescent thingies from which bizarre and deadly creatures came out. This had seemed to make the humans quite nervous, and, as a result, they tended to take it out on everything, and especially on solitary wolves…

The wolf stopped, alarmed. Its nostrils had just been tickled by a powerful scent, the scent of a potential _prey_…

Its eyes riveted on a dark form lying in the snow, a few feet from him and from which was emanating the scent. The wolf's ears flattered on its head, and its chops curled up. A deep and menacing growl came up its throat, and it tensed its muscles, ready to jump forward.

But as it was ready to do so, the wolf stared wide-eyed at the big and bright flash of light which was coming toward him at high speed. The wolf was so surprised it did not manage to avoid the ball of energy, which hit it right in its jaws. A smell of brunt hairs as well as yelps of pain rose into the air.

The wolf was certainly not a stupid animal, but sadly enough, it appeared that among all the potential preys living in the well-stocked with game woods and mountains of Bruma, it had chosen Master Ontus Vanin, one of the greatest mage of his generation…

"Stupid animal!" grumbled Ontus Vanin as he watched the wolf vanishing behind a hill, still howling in pain. "Yeah, that's it! Run away before I turn you into a carpet!"

The old mage was not exactly in a good mood, having spent most of the night standing on his belly, in the snow, waiting for a hypothetic signal to come from the Cloud Ruler Temple.

He readjusted his robes and sighed heavily. No really, he was too old for that kind of things! At his age, he should be standing in front of a nice fire, drinking tea – or rather, beer – and reading philosophical, magical and political books.

Ontus Vanin was a passionate reader – and writer as well. He could spend days with his nose stuffed into a book, and his commentaries and reviews of the most renowned books of Tamriel, such as Fal Droon's "The Dragon Break Reexamined" or "The Doors of Oblivion", by Seif-ij Hidja, were extremely famous and had earned him quite a reputation…

This brusquely reminded him that he needed to finish his commentaries on Crassus Curio's "Lusty Argonian Maid". The thing was a lot of fun to write, because Vanin was a playful old man, and had decided to interpret it as a denunciation of exploitation of the labor class by the ruling one.

Of course, the old mage perfectly knew it was absolutely not what that pervert of Curio had indented to do, even if he could have been interested by the subject, if "exploitation" had been preceded by "sexual". But Vanin could not wait to see Polinus and Traven's face when they would realize that several tomes of commentaries on a book that had been banned from almost all the provinces of the Empire and had to circulate on the sly was sitting imposingly on the shelves of the Arcane University's Mystic Archives…

Vanin smirked at the thought, but his sneer turned into a grimace as a searing pain shot trough his back.

"_Yeah, a nice evening writing and reading by the fire in my cozy dining room."_ the mage thought, groaning and massaging his hurting back. _"This is what I should be doing now, rather than sitting in the cold and waiting for my arthritis to wake up!"_

But on the other hand, Vanin had to admit that all this running around and plotting thing was kind of… fun. It reminded him of the good old days, when he was in the battle mages commandos, his face painted with camouflage colors to go hunting undeads and other creatures of the night, and then showing his scars in the taverns to impress young ladies.

Vanin sighed. Ah well, these were the good old days,

Of course, you had people like that arsehole of Ocato, who preferred to use invisibility or chameleon spells rather than covering his delicate and perfect Elven complexion with paintings that may have given him pimples. But apparently, the girls liked guys with camouflage paintings. Vanin's gleeful expression turned into a mischievous one when he remembered the lovely brunettes working in Bruma's tavern… Hmmm, maybe he should have put some camouflage paintings on his face tonight…

The mage made a pout when he realized what an old foolish man he was and made his mind focus on more urgent problems. Vanin really hoped Septim had received his message.

Despite his efforts, the mage had not managed to get an interview with him, as it seemed that the Blades were coveting their little Emperor a lot – which he was finding highly suspicious. He had not even been able to see Jauffre, the Grandmaster of the Blades. Vanin knew he was _persona non grata _in most official organizations – from the Mages Guild to the Council of the Elders – but he had never done anything which could have annoyed the Blades and justified that kind of rebuff.

He interrupted his personal meditation when he realized something was happening in the Cloud Ruler Temple. Apparently, someone was making luminous signals from on of the arrow slits of the ramparts.

The mage narrowed his eyes. Two flashes of light… A pause…One flash… Another pause… And three ones.

Vanin smiled, both satisfied and relieved. That was the code.

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Two flashes of light… A pause…One flash… Another pause… And three ones.

"Hope I got it right…" whispered Martin while searching the darkness in order to spot a potential move from the mountains surrounding the Cloud Ruler Temple.

"I am sure you did." grunted Baurus, who was standing behind Martin and did not seem quite please to be here. "Now, shall we proceed before freezing to death here?"

Martin sighed as he put his little mirror and candle back into his bag. He had no means to make sure his mysterious contact had received the message, and honestly, he was finding all this highly suspicious.

"I really don't like this." Baurus muttered as if he had read Martin's thoughts. "Has it occurred to you that all this could actually be a trap?"

Martin shrugged at Baurus' remark. Of course he had thought of it!

Whoever this Ontus Vanin was, he had indeed extremely curious ways to organize a meeting… Why on Nirn didn't he simply come to see him at the Cloud Ruler Temple, rather than sending him that strange magical message, written in fire letters? The damn thing just popped up onto one of the walls of Martin's bedroom, scaring him to death and making him running around looking for a bucket of water.

Nevertheless, and despite his strange manners, Martin had decided to meet Vanin, even if he knew it was one of foulest thing he had ever done. After all, he had no guarantee it was not a trap organized by the Mythic Dawn, but he was quite intrigued. Vanin had said in his message he was coming from Sigrid's part, and anyway this was providing him with the opportunity to get away from the Cloud Ruler Temple – in which he had been cloistered for months – as well as from Jauffre.

Indeed, the Grandmaster of the Blades had decided to prepare the future Emperor to his duties and thus seemed to have been gripped by a "red tape" frenzy, making Martin signing and filling up papers all day – and if the latter had not protested, all night.

"I have the feeling that we are making a huge mistake, Martin…" continued the Baurus while Martin and he were carefully trying to sneak out of the Temple without being noticed by the sentinels. "You should have told Jauffre about all this…"

Martin stopped and turned toward the Blade.

"Listen, Baurus." he whispered cautiously, as a sentinel passed near them. "I have asked you to come with me because I trust you and consider you as my best friend… But of course, you can stay here if you want..." he added in a conversational voice.

The Redguard rolled his eyes and his lips pursed in annoyance.

"No need to get overdramatic!" he grumbled. "All I think is that we should have told someone else about it…"

"No." replied Martin flatly. "Vanin had made pretty clear in his message that he wanted me to come alone… I have already taken the risk to discontent him by taking you along with me…"

"And that's exactly why I think we should ask for some support!" Baurus interrupted, raising his voice but he brusquely shut up when Martin gestured frantically at him. "How can we trust someone who wants _you_ to come _alone_?" he continued in a lower voice. "Martin? Are you listening to me? Hey! Wait…!"

But Martin was not listening to Baurus anymore. He silently walked up to the parapets and took a rope out of his bag. He checked the surrounding once more to make sure he was alone and started to tie the rope up to a metallic hook fixed into the wall.

"I won't make you change your mind, will I?" sighed Baurus as he sneaked by his side.

Martin beamed while putting on some leather gloves.

"No, you won't."

He then winked at the Redguard, and, taking the rope in his hands, he jumped over the parapet. He slided silently along the ramparts for a few seconds and finally landed smoothly in the snow. He raised his head as he heard and hissing sound above him and just had the time to jump sideways to avoid Baurus, who landed awkwardly at his side.

Martin shot the Redguard an ironical look as he watched him recovering his balance and Baurus, who had caught his glance, made a pout.

"Don't look at me like that! You knew I would not have let you down!" the Redguard grunted. "As if you could do things right without me…" he added with a small smile.

Martin smiled back and signed Baurus to follow him.

"You know, I can't believe we managed to get out so easily." said Baurus, looking slightly surprised as he ran along with Martin in the snow, leaving the Clouds Ruler's Temple behind them. "With all the sentinels…"

"They are looking for people who may try to get _in_, not _out_." replied Martin, raising his eyebrows ironically.

They continued to run, their breath crystallizing in the cold air of the night, and after a while, they finally reached the bottom of the hill on which the Temple was sitting imposingly. They were not far from Bruma, and could see the walls of the town from there.

"Is it where we are supposed to meet?" asked Baurus, looking around as he tightened his cape around him to protect himself from the chilly North wind.

"I think so. Vanin said he wanted to meet me near Bruma's north gate." replied Martin, scanning the surroundings carefully. "But it seems we are the firsts, which is not a bad thing, as it gives you time to hi…"

"Martin!" yelled Baurus, pointing at something behind him. "Watch out!"

Martin turned around and withdrew his sword as he saw something big and black jumping out of nowhere. But he did not get the time to avoid it. The thing hit him right in the stomach, cutting his breath and making him fly several feet away.

Gaping for air and blinded by snow, Martin tried to see where his sword had fallen but could not do so as he found himself being turned over on his back like a crêpe and firmly pinned on the ground, facing what looked like a Khajiit wearing a scarf, several layers of thick woolen jumpers and a pompon bonnet with holes on the top to let his ears getting through it.

"Hello, Prince Charming!" the carnivalesque creature boomed merrily. "Nice to meet you! I have heard so much about you, you know…"

Martin struggled a bit to try to free himself from the Khajiit's grip, but he gave up quickly. The latter was strong, very strong, and even if he did not seem eager to hurt him, Martin could feel his claws through the fabric of his shirt, ready to drive into his skin… He looked at Burma's city walls. They were not too far away and maybe if he yelled…

"Oh, no! Don't even think about that my dear friend!" said the Khajiit as if he had guessed Martin's intentions. "Even if someone was able to hear you, all he would find once here would be your dead body bathing in a pool of your own blood…"

"Who are you?" asked Martin between gritted teeth.

His aggressor did not seem to be from the Mythic Dawn – if he had been, Martin would probably be dead already. But for some reasons, this noticing was not reassuring him much and his worst fears were confirmed when he realized that Baurus was now surrounded by three dark robbed and hooded figures, who were pointing their swords at his throat…

"Should we kill this one, Listener?" said the tallest of the three silhouettes in a voice which sounded like a bear growl.

_Listener_… Martin froze at the word. His eyes slowly widened in shock and he exchanged a rather worried and astonished look with Baurus, who had reached the same conclusion and was looking at him with eyes like saucers.

"Yes, we are from the Dark Brotherhood." said the Khajiit with a huge smile, allowing Martin to have an unrestricted view on his impressive dentition. "To be more precise, we are the Black Hand. It is quite an honor to see us all together, you know..."

"Well, if you are here to kill me, forget about the kindness and do it!" spat Martin. "But leave Baurus alone!"

At the words, the Khajiit roared with laugher and so did the hooded figures which were still surrounding Baurus. But one of them remained silent and despite the hood covering his face, Martin knew he was watching him intently.

"Awww, Martin Septim! You are so… chivalrous!" chuckled the Khajiit, pinching his cheek between two clawed fingers. "No wonder why _she_ is so found of you…" he added with a small know smile. "Nah, don't worry. We won't harm any of you…"

"…unless deemed necessary, of course." interrupted a deep and warm voice.

Martin craned his neck and tried to take a better look at the man who had just talk. Slowly, he removed his hood, revealing long dark hair tied into a ponytail and a face with very regular and beautiful features. But the most striking thing about him was the dark haired man's extremely intense gaze, and Martin felt himself progressively being hypnotized by his golden brown eyes. As for Baurus, he looked like as if he had seen a ghost.

"_Lucien_? Lucien Lachance?" asked the Redguard in disbelief. "You are an _assassin_?"

The man called Lachance turned toward Baurus and had a carnivorous smile, showing in the process a large range of perfectly aligned and white teeth.

"A _Dark Brotherhood _assassin." he corrected, casually removing some invisible dust from one of his sleeves. "You are kind of surprised, aren't you?"

Lucien's aplomb seemed to destabilize Baurus completely, but the Redguard was not a Blade for any reason, and he finally recovered from his surprise superbly, his lips curling up in a snarl.

"Actually, I am more surprised by the fact you are wearing clothes this time…" he replied ironically.

"You know, running around naked in the snow would definitely not be extremely reasonable. I have an extremely fragile health, you see…"

"Because fighting Mythic Dawn agents in the nude was a sensible thing to do, perhaps?"

"I am really sorry to interrupt your very touching reunion," said Martin bitterly, "but would you mind telling me what you are doing here if you are not going to kill me?"

It was not only that Martin was finding the fact of having been cornered like a complete moron by the Dark Brotherhood rather unpleasant, but also that he remembered what Baurus had told him about Lucien Lachance. The Redguard had mentioned many times the little episode in the Imperial City tavern during which he fought Mythic Dawns agents helped by a rather awesome but naked man, who _traveled alone with Sigrid Trencavel_…

Martin bit his lower lip at the thought and a very sour feeling started rising in his chest. Not that he had jealousy was a completely new experience for him, but this time, the sentiment was so intense he had to struggle not to let himself overcome by it and to focus on what his aggressor was telling him.

"Why are we here? Oh, but it is very simple, my dear Martin Septim…" the Khajiit explained in a friendly tone which was contrasted by the nasty gleam in his eyes. "My colleagues and I," he made a move with his chin toward the disturbing silhouettes, "are just here to demand you a small clarification of the situation regarding your…_ attitude_ toward friends we have in common."

Martin frowned, perplexed, and was about to reply angrily to the Khajiit that he seriously doubted they had anything in common, but he did not get the opportunity.

His attacker's head brusquely ducked into his shoulders in order to avoid something hot and sparkling that went over his head, whirling and hissing. Martin was not sure what it was, but whatever the nature of the thing, it had burnt the little pompom on the Khajiit's bonnet.

The latter scowled and, blocking Martin's arms with his legs, took his bonnet off. He then examined the burnt pompom with a critical eye before he put his bonnet back on his head and looked in the direction from which the energy ball had come from.

Standing a few feet away was a rather chubby man, dressed in mage robes embroidered with sequins and which colors ranged from electric blue to fuchsia pink. The Khajiit looked a bit puzzled first but his face brusquely lightened up when he recognized…

"Master Ontus Vanin!" he exclaimed, sounding absolutely delighted. "I am _so_ glad to see you again! I did not get the opportunity to thank you for your little diversion at the Montfort's party the other day…"

"Shut up and let them go!" hissed Vanin.

As he said this, the mage stood to guard and raised his glowing hands, ready to strike...

"Oh, you want me to let them go?" asked the Khajiit. "But of course! Anything for you, Master Vanin!"

He made a gesture toward the rest of the Black Hand, and two of the Speakers lowered their sword and took a step from Baurus.

The Khajiit then woke up, freeing Martin from his grip and allowing the latter to quickly crawl away from the Khajiit. He ran for his sword, which was lying on the ground a few feet away. Picking it up from the snow, he then came to guard and, with a resolute expression on his face, pointed it at the most impressive member the Black Hand who was still threatening Baurus. The assassin was very tall and heavily built, and, in addition to the sword he was holding in his hand, had a very big and blunt axe hung on his back.

"Drop your sword and let him go!" Martin demanded, provoking once again a wave of hilarity among the Black Hand members.

"'Let him go'!" said the big assassin in a mock baby voice. "And if I don't, you shrimp? What are you going to do to us? A second arsehole?"

"Havilstein…" warned the Khajiit. But the assassin ignored him, fixing Martin with grey and mad eyes.

Looking at the scene, Vanin growled.

"Tell your big brute to lower that axe!" the mage demanded.

But as he did for the Listener, the thug ignored Vanin's threat, and smiling spitefully, he nailed his sword violently in the frozen ground as easily as if in butter. Then, very slowly, he removed his axe from the sheath on his back while walking toward Martin and looking at him with hungry eyes. Martin took a few steps backward, but appeared more resolute than ever - even if he perfectly knew he had very few chances to manage to block any blow coming from such a pack of muscles and malice.

The brute's smile grew wider as he brandished the axe over his head, ready to strike…

"No, Havilstein!" barked the only member of the Black Hand who had not spoken already.

Havilstein froze, blinked, and with his axe still brandished over his head, he slowly turned toward the Speaker who had just spoken. Like Lucien Lachance, the assassin had taken her hood off, revealing the face of a female Altmer. Or at least what looked like a female Altmer, and Martin tried not to make a face at the sight. Contrary to many High Elves, she was far from being attractive, with her piggy noise and her mouth which seemed to be set in a sneer.

"You heard what the Listener said." the Altmer growled. "We are not going to harm anyone… more than necessary."

The assassin called Havilstein looked like a little boy who had just done something bad and was being told off by his mother, and as a result, lowered his axe slowly.

"But, Speaker Arquen…" he started, making big and wet puppy eyes.

"Shut up, Havilstein!"

Baurus looked, mesmerised, at the big Nord's lower lip starting to shake while his eyes were getting watery.

"Do you have any idea of what is going on here?" whispered the Redguard, fascinated at the "Havilstein-being-told-off-by-Arquen-under-the-amused-look-of-Lachance" show.

"No, I don't." Martin replied flatly, and he reported his attention on the Listener of the Black Hand who was now walking toward Vanin, his arms open as if he was going to hug the mage.

"Careful, J'Ghasta…" said Lucien. But the Khajiit ignored him and continued walking toward Ontus Vanin, smiling widely.

"Ah, come on, my dear Ontus! Let me give you a hu…"

"Stay where you are!" yelled the mage, and the glow around his hands intensified. "One more step and you are going to finish your career as a fur coat!"

Once again, the Black Hand and J'Ghasta roared out of laugher, but this time, Ontus, Martin and Baurus's blood turned to ice as they realised that more than four laughs were echoing in the Jerall's Mountains.

Around them, more people were laughing, and one by one, silhouettes started to appear from behind trees and rocks. They were all dressed in black, which had allowed them to remain perfectly concealed in the shadows. And they all seemed to hold in their hands very blunt objects.

Baurus nudged Martin in the ribs, pointing at two particular silhouettes. Martin's jaw dropped at the sight and he exchanged an appalled look with the Redguard. They had both recognised without too many difficulties the very familiar figures of Teinaava and Gogron…

"Right. Now, let's imagine that you kill me, Master Vanin." said J'Ghasta with malicious joy. "What do you think would happen next, hey?"

The sound of bow's string being tensed and daggers being taken out of their sheath answered the question. Vanin's gaze ran along the hills. He counted about twenty assassins surrounding them, ready to strike, and he gritted his teeth out of frustration. He was certainly a very powerful mage, and he knew he had a small chance to win the fight. But the trouble was that this small chance mainly consisted in blowing up the whole place - which meant blowing up Martin Septim and his friend as well…

"So, what are you going to do, Master Vanin?" J'Ghasta boasted. "Die courageously but stupidly or listen to what we have to say?"

Vanin breathed heavily a few times, clearly hesitating on the conduct to follow. Around him, the assassins stood still, waiting for an order to come from the Khajiit. The old mage closed and opened his hands a few times, and finally, he gave a deep sigh and let his hands falling at his side.

"Ah, glad to see you are being reasonable." exclaimed J'Ghasta, who was now standing by the mage side. "And don't make that face, Ontus! After all, we are all here for the same reason…" he added, patting on the mage shoulder. "Because you are here for Trencavel, aren't you?"

J'Ghasta's voice had risen a bit when he had pronounced Sigrid's name, and he quickly turned his head toward Martin to observe his reaction.

"How do you know?" asked Vanin, awestruck.

But J'Ghasta did not reply. He was too busy looking at Martin, a very cunning expression written all over his feline face. And he was not disappointed at the boy's reaction. Martin had turned very pale in the face, as pale as his knuckles clutched on the hilt of his sword.

"Sigrid? You…" he babbled. "You bunch of assassins! What have you done to her?!" he roared, pointing his sword once again at the Black Hand members.

J'Ghasta rolled his eyes and raised his hands in an appeasing way.

"Hey, nothing!" he protested.

"She was supposed to be back days ago!" he "Tell me what happened to her!"

"And _you_ dare to ask us…" growled Lucien.

The level of sarcasm and hatred in Lachance's voice acted on Martin as a cold shower. He lowered his sword, lack of understanding written all over his face.

There was a long and very thoughtful pause, during which all could be heard was the cries of some night birds. Scratching his mane, J'Ghasta considered Martin for a while, before turning toward Lucien, who shrugged in ignorance

"So, basically, you are telling us you don't know where she is?" J'Ghasta asked Martin carefully.

"You are kidding, aren't you?" said Ontus Vanin, who looked like he had been beaten over the head by a big stick.

"But kidding about what, for Akatosh's sake?!" exclaimed Martin, sounding extremely annoyed.

"Now, that is getting really interesting…" said J'Ghasta, scratching his chin through his thick scarf. "I had been expecting many things, but not that…"

All members of the Black and Vanin exchanged a puzzled look, and the mage turned toward Martin, astonished.

"You mean… You _really_ don't _know_?"

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"And what do you mean by: 'he is not in his bedroom anymore'?!" yelled Jauffre.

Captain Steffan shifted uneasily under the Grandmaster's angry gaze, wishing he was somewhere else...

"Well," he started, clearing his throat, "I mean that it looks as if Martin Septim is not _physically_ in the room you have attributed him in the Cloud Ruler Temple, Sir..."

Jauffre's face turned very red and veins started bulging on his forehead, and Captain Steffan bit his lips when he realized it was certainly not the best moment to test his abilities at sarcasm.

"I know, man!" barked the Grandmaster, banging on the table with both fists. "What I meant is that how comes the future emperor of Tamriel has managed to get out of the Temple without anyone noticing?!"

This time, Captain Steffan decided wisely to remain quiet and observed the Grandmaster who had started pacing up and down his office, on arm resting on his hips while his other hand was playing nervously with the straps of his armor.

"And by Talos, where is Baurus?!" he exclaimed, kicking angrily. "Wasn't he supposed to watch over Martin?"

Captain Steffan gulped and closed his eyes. He had dreaded this question as well…

"Actually, Baurus had gone missing as well, sir…"

Jauffre stopped by a small shelves on which were resting several books. His hand slowly ran along their covers before it stopped on a very big volume, bound with leather and metal. Captain Steffan just had the time to duck to avoid the book before it hit him right in the face.

"Find them! And quick!" yelled Jauffre, pointing menacingly at the poor Blade.

Captain Steffan stood to attention and ran away from Jauffre's office. As the door closed behind the Captain, the Grandmaster sighed and shook his head, demoralized.

Really, he should have seen it coming. Martin had shown growing impatience regarding his forced isolation in the Cloud Ruler Temple, an isolation Jauffre had reinforced the last few days, even by going as far as declining several audiences demanded by Countess Nirana Carvain. The Grandmaster knew too well why she wanted to see Martin so urgently…

To tell the truth, the Grandmaster was not too worried about Martin's security - if Martin had disappeared with Baurus, it was probably because he had decided to run away, not because he had been abducted. No, the Jauffre was far more worried about what Martin would learn find out once outside…

The Grandmaster gave a start as his thoughts were interrupted by several hesitating knocks on the door.

"Yes?" barked Jauffre.

The door opened an inch and Captain Steffan's worried face appeared. Jauffre looked Aetheriusyard and gave another sigh.

"What do you want_ again_?"

"Well, er… Martin Septim and Baurus have come back to the Temple, Sir…"

"That's excellent news!" exclaimed the Grandmaster. But he stopped and frowned when he realized that Steffan was not looking especially ecstatic. "Why are you making such a face, man?"

"They have not come back… alone, Sir."

Jauffre blinked.

"What? Have they brought strangers to this sacred place!?"

"You'd better come and see, Sir…"

The Grandmaster followed Steffan along the corridors of the Cloud Rulers' Temple, muttering under his breath about the foolishness of young and bold people. When they finally entered the main hall, they found Martin in great conversation with a Khajiit who was wearing so many jumpers he had trouble to lower his arms along his body and with a mage who looked like an obese little rainbow. Around them were standing three silhouettes wearing dark robes and, at the sight, a little alarm started to ring in the Grandmaster's head.

Martin put an end to his conversation when he realized that Jauffre and Steffan had entered the room.

"Ah, Jauffre." he said flatly. "We have been waiting for you…"

"Glad to see you again, my Lord." replied Jauffre. "We have been a bit worried by your sudden… disappearance." Jauffre then turned toward the rest of the assembly. "And who are those people, if I may ask?"

"They are the Dark Brotherhood Black Hand." replied Martin. "And no, it won't be necessary to call the Blades, Jauffre." he added softly as the Grandmaster opened his mouth wide to shout. "I have asked to wait outside and to remain there - whatever they could hear happening in this room…"

"With all due respect, my Lord, have you lost your marbles!?" shrieked Jauffre.

Martin did not reply anything, but his lips were so pursued they could be barely seen at all and in his eyes were burning what looked like defiance and resentment. Without removing his glance from the Grandmaster, he slowly took a paper out of his pocket and handed it to Jauffre.

"Could you tell me what it is, Jauffre…?"

Trying to keep an eye on the Black Hand members, the Grandmaster took the paper between to finger and scanned it very quickly. Then he handed it back to Martin, shrugging.

"Well, it is one of those placards you find everywhere in the Imperial city…" said the Grandmaster in a very casual tone. "Apparently, this one is mentioning the date and place of an execution, but…"

"Read a bit more _carefully_, Jauffre…" Martin's voice was very calm, but it was the kind of calm you had before the storm…

The Grandmaster gulped and obeyed, reading the placard again in a very heavy silence while the metaphorical atmosphere in the room had reached polar temperature.

"This is extremely regrettable." said the Grandmaster carefully, once he finished reading. "Do you have any idea of how all this happened, and what we…?"

"These people here," Martin interrupted him, pointing at the assassins and the mage, "pretend that Sigrid's and Vicente's execution is the result of my refusal to drop my claims to the Imperial throne."

Martin's voice was now carrying along icebergs, to the greatest pleasure of metaphorical penguins and polar bears.

"Ah, er…" started the Grandmaster, clearing his throat.

"The funny thing is that I absolutely don't remember having made such a decision… Nor having been asked anything about it…" Martin said in a low and false sweet voice. "Do you have any idea of what could have happened, Jauffre?"

Jauffre looked at Baurus, expecting a bit of support from him. But all he found in the Redguard eyes was disappointment and suspicion.

"I have asked you something, Grandmaster of the Blades, so please do answer my question…"

Martin was staring at Jauffre, and the latter realized there was no way out. He took a big breath. He knew he would have to provide some explanation one day or another, but he had just wished it could have happened a bit _later_…

Trying to keep a neutral expression on his face, the Grandmaster ruffled through his pocket for a while and took out a little leather purse. He untied the knot which was closing it and, without a word, took Martin's hand and tiped the contents of the purse in his palm.

Martin shot Jauffre an interrogative look before he transferred his attention back on the object, and his heart sank when he recognized it.

"What is that?" asked J'Ghasta, peering over Martin's shoulder at the little item resting on his palm.

"It is the wedding ring Martin offered Sigrid a few days ago…" whispered Baurus, who was looking worryingly at Martin's distraught expression.

"He offered her a _wedding ring_?" Lucien asked, and J'Ghasta frowned at him in a very explicit way, but Lucien ignored him.

"Yes, and..." Baurus stopped and shot Lachance a surprised glance. "Hey, you look very red in the face, man. Do you need some fresh air?"

"And she _accepted_ it!?" spat Lucien, sounding gravely offended. "She was drunk, wasn't she?"

"Lucien…" hissed J'Ghasta between gritted teeth. "We made a deal. So, now you shut up right or else you are going back to Vicente's room... Did I make myself clear?"

Lucien pursued his lips, slightly vexed and Arquen gave out a small chuckle which turned into a gargle when Lucien discreetly trampled on her foot.

"What does that mean, Jauffre?" Martin asked softly while still looking at the ring in his hand. His voice was shaking a bit, but no one was sure if it was from controlled sadness or anger.

"I...I received the ring a few days ago." Jauffre started, trying not to look at anyone in the room. "It came along with a letter signed by Chancellor Ocato, proposing you a deal…"

"What kind of deal?" Martin's eyes were now so narrowed they just looked like two little splits.

Jauffre gulped. His mouth felt really dry now and he would have been happy to drink something – preferably something strong – but given the murderous glance Martin and one of the assassins were shooting him, it was probably wiser to carry on with his story.

"Well, from what I have understood, Trencavel and Valtieri got implicated into some shady business with necromancers, and got caught. The Council also worked out they were from the Brotherhood…"

Martin closed his eyes at the words. Of course, deep inside him, he perfectly knew that half of the Dark Brotherhood would not have taken the risk to contact him here, at the Could Ruler's Temple, if Sigrid was not one of their members - and an important one! But he had really hoped his reasoning may have been wrong. Well, it was not…

"The Chancellor's deal was very simple." continued Jauffre. "You forgot about the throne, and the charges against Trencavel and the vampire would have been dropped… He was even ready to give you two a small place somewhere, and you would have had a sit for every special occasion... But if you refused, she would be accused of being an assassin and a necromancer and… executed as such."

Ontus Vanin gave a polite cough and all eyes turned toward him.

"We are all well aware of that Jauffre. But the question remains how Septim managed to sent a sealed letter to the Council with his decision, if he was not aware of the situation?"

Jauffre turned very pale, and passed a hand over his weary face.

"I was trying to form Martin to his future duties as Emperor, and trying to make him catching up with all the decisions the Council had taken as well. I wanted him to sign them so we would not loose too much time later, when he would officially become Emperor… So, I mixed the letter I had written myself with the rest of the papers... And Martin signed it without reading it."

An appalled silence followed his words.

"You deceived Martin? On purpose?" asked Baurus, appalled. Behind him, Captain Steffan had covered his mouth with his hand, watching at the Grandmaster in horror.

"And they say assassins are a bunch of traitors and cowards." sniggered Lucien, a nasty gleam in the eyes. "Apparently, the Blades could teach us a few lessons…"

"Glad to see your sense of justice and honor are still intact under that thick coat of ruthlessness and cynicism." said Vanin mordantly. "But if someone should be offended here, it should be Martin Septim…My Lord?"

But Martin was not paying attention anymore. His eyes just had caught by the inscription engraved inside the ring. Somebody had hammered the original one, replacing "Martin and Sigrid" by "The Bastard and his whore". Martin closed his hand over the ring and his eyes as well, trying to calm down. But this time, he was unable to control the wave of rage which was almost suffocating him.

He opened his eyes suddenly and roaring in fury, jumped toward Jauffre, punching him right in the face. The Grandmaster's nose broke in a dry crack, and he felt on his back on the ground. Martin then sit on his stomach and started strangling him.

The attack had been so sudden that nobody had anticipated it. But Baurus and J'Ghasta recovered their mind very quickly and managed to drag Martin away from Jauffre, while Vanin was walking toward the Grandmaster.

"Why, Jauffre?!" shouted Martin, still struggling in J'Ghasta's and Baurus' grip. "Why have you betrayed her? She trusted you! And so did I!"

"You left me with no other alternative!" yelled Jauffre, clutching his bleeding nose while he was helped by Ontus Vanin to get back on his feet. "If you had to choose between your throne and Trencavel, what would you have done?! Would you have accepted to let her down?!"

"Never!" spat Martin. "How dare you to even ask me?!"

"That's why I did not!" hissed the Grandmaster. "You are so naive, Martin! You don't understand the Empire need an Emperor! If you step down, everything that had been built by your ancestors and by your father will collapse!"

"And we should not forget the fact that, like the Empire, the Blades need an Emperor to exist…" J'Ghasta added carefully, and Jauffre lowered his head, ashamed.

"So, now that we have clarified the situation," said Lucien while looking at Baurus and J'Ghasta freeing Martin, "what are we going to do?"

"I am afraid the question is: why are you doing this?" Martin asked, turning toward J'Ghasta.

The Khajiit blinked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why did you come here to warn me? Why is Sigrid so important for the Dark Brotherhood?"

"She is as important for us as she is for you…" replied J'Ghasta shrugging. "I mean, she still has to help you to shut the Gates of Oblivion. Our Night Mother told us that, without her, nothing can be done. You _must_ save her…"

"Says who?" asked Jauffre sarcastically, while Vanin was curing his nose with a restoration spell. "The mascot of the Black Hand, which, by the way, seems to miss a finger?"

J'Ghasta shot the Grandmaster a look full of scorn. Shaleez' absence annoyed him a lot, and there was no way he was going to be teased by this old prune of Jauffre.

"You know," started the Khajiit with a huge smile, "I could bite your head off here and now, but I won't. First, I would be doing you too much honor, and second, we have more important matters to deal with…"

"Indeed." said Martin, his blue eyes riveted on Jauffre. "Baurus?"

"Yes, my lord?" asked the Redguard, standing to attention.

"Go to the Castle of Bruma. Tell the Countess I need all the men she could provide me with… And also see if there are still soldiers from the battle of Bruma who had not come back to their camps yet."

"But…What are you planning to do, my lord?" asked Vanin, growing slightly worried.

Martin turned toward the mage and gave him on his very bright smile.

"To get my wife and my throne back!"

77777777777777777777

Count Janus Hassildor has to admit the Chancellor Ocato's apartments were far more richly decorated than his, back in Skingrad. The place was extremely cozy, with many rich and rare carpets, and a very impressive collection of Ayleid artifacts, which was the reason why the Count had not taken Furball along with him this time – Hassildor not want his dog to activate by mistake on of those powerful artifacts and to blow up the whole Palace…

But the Count was not here to admire Ocato's taste in decoration. There were serious matters he intended to discuss with the Chancellor – if only the latter accepted to receive him. Hassildor was not sure how long he had been waiting there in the anteroom, but he was truly glad to be a vampire, because otherwise, he would probably be dead of old age already…

A door on his right brusquely opened, and a servant entered the room. He bowed before the Count.

"His Excellence Chancellor Ocato is going to receive you, my lord." said the servant. "This way, please…"

The Count followed the servant in a maze of rooms and corridors. They all looked the same, and Hassildor wondered if he would be able to find his way alone. They finally reached the door of Ocato's office. The servant knocked on it politely twice, then opened the door and bowed while gesturing the Count to enter the room.

"Ah! Count Hassildor. Please do take a sit." said the Chancellor, who was sitting behind an imposing desk made of ebony and ivory. "It has been a while since we have been able to talk face to face..."

"Well, it is a bit hard these days to get an audience with you, Excellence" said Janus Hassildor, while bowing in front of Chancellor Ocato and seating in front of him.

"Well, I am a busy man, Lord Hassildor." replied Ocato flatly.

"_You certainly look like you are…"_ thought Hassildor. The Altmer had very dark rings under his eyes, and his skin, which usually had that nice golden color, looked grayish.

"And, to tell the truth, I am afraid you are loosing your time, my friend. Because if you are coming here to speak in Trencavel and Valtieri's defense, I am afraid it is completely useless…"

"But…!" protested the vampire.

"There is nothing that can be done, Count Hassildor. It is too late." Ocato said while getting up from his seat. He walked toward the window and opened it. There were some screams outside, and the Count recognized the voices of the town criers.

"They are announcing the execution of Trencavel and Valtieri." continued the Chancellor. "We can't backtrack now."

Hassildor shook his head.

"I just don't get it, Ocato. Where is your advantage in all this? In what executing Trencavel and preventing Septim to get to the throne will help you to save the Empire?"

"It won't help me to save the Empire, Janus. Just to save my stupid little neck." The Chancellor had a weak smile. "The Empire is condemned, Hassildor. No one can save it now, not even Martin Septim."

"Such kind of words is so unlike you, Ocato…"

The Chancellor sighed.

"Listen, Janus. I am completely isolated in the Council. The Oblivion Crisis has completely undermined the little credibility I had left…"

"But your authority over the Council is real!" exclaimed the Count. "And you served the Empire well for so many years…"

"No. My authority was relying on Uriel. And he is dead now." Ocato had a faraway look. "Now, my political survival is linked to my ability to support the strongest faction in the Council of Elders…"

"The Montforts…" whispered Hassildor.

"And Hannibal Traven." completed the Chancellor. "They are making a perfect teamwork. The Archmage has found good allies in the Montforts. The siblings want Trencavel's demise out of jealousy and Traven found in Trencavel the perfect alibi to prove that his crusade against necromancers is efficient…"

"All this is getting incredibly unstable, Ocato!" exclaimed Hassildor. "The Montforts may be powerful, but the Trencavels are not weak either! Many Breton nobles are actually muttering on how _you_ plot Sigrid Trencavel's downfall to make sure Bretons may never be able to influence the politics of the Empire…"

"I now!" the Chancellor moaned, burying his face into his hands. "Don't you think I have pondered over all this before?"

There was a silence. Hassildor desperately tried to look for something to say to comfort Ocato. He seemed really sincere, even if this kind of thing could be hard to determine as far as politicians were concerned.

"I am not sure yet," started the Count carefully, "but...If I found a way to save Trencavel and allow Septim to come to the Imperial City, you would not oppose me, would you?"

The Chancellor shot him an inquisitive glance between his fingers and slowly remove his face from his hands.

"You have a plan, haven't you?" he asked, frowning.

"Of course I have…" replied the Count. _"The thing is, I am still not sure what it is exactly what it is..."_ he added to himself.

"Well, I hope you know what you are doing, Janus. Because if you fail…"

Janus looked at the sky out of the window and started thinking about Ontus Vanin.

"I hope so, Ocato, I really hope so…"


	21. The Rescue II

**Squeee!**

**Again, many apologies for being so long to update….**

**We are almost done, guys!**** There are just two chapters and one epilogue to go, and that's it! XD **

**Not that I am getting bored or anything****, but I have ideas for other stories, and I can't start them if I don't finish that one first. **

**Er, I apologised if I have forgotten to thank some people for the favs, alerts, reviews and the like. I am a bit loosing my marbles at the moment…:P**

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The sun was setting, but the level of activity in the Imperial city was not decreasing. On the contrary, it seemed that more and more people were getting in the streets, all converging toward Talos Plaza, where another great procession in the honor of the Nine was going to take place. The strollers were conversing happily, ignoring that far above their head, they were being closely observed…

From the window of her little bedroom nestled under the roofs of one of the imposing building of the Talos Plaza, her chin resting on the palm of her hand, Shaleez was carefully watching the great flood of people walking along the streets.

The Argonian had never been really at ease in buildings, and she far preferred the shelters offered by caves and abandoned mines - especially if those were flooded. But she had to admit this little room was offering her an amazing standpoint on the Talos district, which was extremely convenient for what she was trying to achieve at the moment…

"_Come on…"_ she thought, as her eyes continued to scan the crowd intensely. _"They can' stay with their arms crossed. They must be up to something…"_

She wished she could use her sense of smell – or rather, as she was a lizard, taste. Indeed, each person had a particular "taste" .But there were too many people around at the moment, and she really doubt she could manage to identify any member of the Dark Brotherhood…

Shaleez rubbed her tired eyes and was about to take a little break from the window when she brusquely felt sudden chill and the smell of death rose in the air. The surroundings got blurred an instant, and then, as unexpectedly as it had happened, everything went back to normal. The Argonian took a deep breath and inhaled as a result a very strong smell of rotten flesh. Gulping, she risked an eye behind her, even if she perfectly knew who was standing there…

"_You are not partying with the others, Shaleez?"_ asked a familiar voice which sounded like a death rattle. _"They__ all seem to have a lot of fun…"_

The Argonian slowly turned around to face the Ankou. The liche was leaning of his scythe, as usual, his face partly covered by his large black hat.

"Hmm, no, not really…" she replied. "I preferred not to be seen at the moment…"

The Ankou shot her one of his desiccated smile and walked toward the window.

"_Ah yes. Of course. I guess that your colleagues of the Black Hand are quite angry regarding your lack of enthusiasm to answer their injunctions to meet them. "_

The Argonian did not reply, but narrowed her eyes as she circumspectly observed the liche while the latter was looking, apparently amused, at two people down the streets arguing over the ownership of a bottle of brandy.

Something had changed about the Ankou. And it was not only that dark purple aura emanating from him. Nor the fact that the two little white flames which were usually dancing in his empty orbits had been replaced by the same purple dark gleam. No, it was that impression, that smell of violent death he was carrying around with him. It seemed more powerful than ever…

"_I wonder how they are going to react when they will find out you betrayed them__, Shaleez_…" continued the liche, drumming his fingers on the window edge.

"Er…" started Shaleez, who really did not like the Ankou's insinuations regarding the Black Hand's reaction as well as his habit of punctuating almost every sentence with her name. "May I ask you what is happening to you? You look a bit… different..."

The Ankou's smile grew wider.

"_My time is approaching, Shaleez. Soon, I will be myself again..." _

The Argonian interrupted him with a small polite cough, and the liche turned toward her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Excuse me, but I am a bit confused." started Shaleez. "Things are not exactly going according to plan, and apparently… I mean, should not you be…angry?"

"_I can't be angry anymore, Shaleez. To feel or express such things as anger, happiness and other emotions, you need a living body and a soul. And, you see, my body is dead and the current vital energy I am using is not even mine…" _

There was so much malevolence in his tone that Shaleez could not help, but shivered. She had always thought she feared nothing or no one, but she had to admit the Ankou scared her to death.

"_As for Trencavel, nor Septim nor the Dark Brotherhood will let her die – at least, not until the Dragonfires are lit and Dagon chased away from the realms of Nirn…"_

"But the Council is going to execute her at sunset tomorrow! Thus, she won't be killed by a member of the Dark Brotherhood and certainly won't be the last person of the year to die. So how will you get your soul and hers if…?"

"_Septim is on his way to the Imperial City"_ the Ankou interrupted her_. "With the Black Hand, the Blades and Countess Carvain of Bruma. They will be in front of the city walls in a few hours and I don't think they have come here for a courtesy visit… " _The liche made an annoyed clinking with his tongue – or at least tried, because desiccated corpses were not exactly good at producing saliva. Once again, he had to rely on his enemies to do the job for him, and he did not like it much.

"_There is nothing we can do for Trencavel for the moment." _continuedthe Ankou, who wanted to sound steady, but ended up sounding more like he was trying to convince himself_. "Instead, we'd rather focus on the Umbra… And how to get it back."_

"I beg your pardon?" asked a bemused Shaleez. "I think you wanted the Mage guild to keep it!"

The Ankou would have rolled his eyes if only he had eyeballs. Shaleez was certainly a very efficient killing machine, but she could be as thick as a brick sometimes. He was glad that all those centuries he had spent haunting Nirn taught him patience, because sometimes he really felt like turning the Argonian into a nice set of lizard shoes and belts.

"_I wanted them __to destroy the Hourglass as it was the only thing Trencavel and the Dark Brotherhood may have used against me…_" the liche explained as if he was talking to a baby._ "But now, if they want to defeat me, their last hope relies on the Umbra, the only artifact that may be able to… destroy me."_

There was a pause, and the Ankou watched Shaleez with a little smirk. He could almost hear her thinking about how she was planning to get Umbra and to use it against him in order to get back in the Black Hand's good book, after having retrieved Uvani's soul, of course…

"That _may_ be? You mean… it is not _sure_?" asked Shaleez, looking suddenly both worried and disappointed.

This time, the Ankou had to make great effort not to laugh. Shaleez was a traitor as well as an idiot. A very entertaining combination, really… The liche could not wait to see her face when she would realize he had lied to her about bringing back Alval Uvani.

"_I don't know.__" _he said, and that was the truth_. "No one knows, actually. And I am not really looking forward finding out… Because once the Mage Guild will have worked out that the Ankou is truly not a legend and is back with full powers, they may be tempted to try to thwart me with that damn sword…"_

"Right, but we don't know where the sword i…"

"_Imperial Palace, Ocato's apartments, second floor, third door on the left, the room is heavily guarded."_ the Ankou said as if he was repeating a lesson by heart. _"And yes, I have taken the time to make some inquiries…"_ he added when he realized Shaleez was looking at him with eyes like saucers.

"But how have you worked that out?"

"_Elementary, my dear Shaleez." _replied the liche._ "I just followed our friend Foulques Montfort a bit. Apparently, his very disturbed brain is now torn between two obsessions: Trencavel and Umbra. All I had to do was listening to the reports his cronies were giving him about the sword."_

"You are very well…organized, you know." said the Argonian, looking impressed. "You could have been a very good…"

The Ankou beamed at her.

"_Assassin? And guess what my profession was before became a lich…" _His face became all serious again and the purple aura around him intensified._ "And now, you'd better get ready. We have a lot on our plate."_

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"So, if all the gates are closed and under watch, how are we supposed to enter in the city?" Countess Carvain asked impatiently.

The atmosphere under the tent was rather hot, metaphorically as well as physically. Despite the fact that the weather in the Nibenian basin was much warmer than in Bruma – even at night – someone had felt that huge braziers burning in the tent were an absolute necessity, probably because it made the whole scene looking a bit more… dramatic. But as a result, all the people who had gathered around the huge table installed in the center of the tent were sweating abundantly.

The Countess was fanning herself vigorously, Baurus, Jauffre, Captain Burd and all the men wearing armor were boiling, and even the Black Hand members, who had swapped their black robes for more casual and above all less identifiable clothing, seemed to have trouble to cope with the temperature. The only one who was at ease - and even happy - was J'Ghasta. The Khajiit was enjoying the hot temperature so much he had decided to stand close to a brazier, warming his hands and purring in pleasure.

"But why the hell did they close the gates?" protested one officer from Bruma, who had a very impressive physique but did not seem particularly bright. "The New Year Festivities are going full swing! And there are still people who will try to get into the City tomorrow for Akatosh's proce…!"

There was a sudden metaphorical chill in the air. As thick as he was, the officer shut his mouth quickly when he realized he had just said something very, very stupid. He looked slightly embarrassed, while the Countess rolled her eyes in annoyance and Captain Burn made a mental note about never allowing that arsehole getting higher in the military hierarchy than his current grade.

J'Ghasta, who was still standing near the brazier, gave a small chuckle and, rubbing his hands, turned toward the assembly.

"Well, the Council almost certainly closed the gates of the Imperial City because Martin leaving Bruma with a small army and camping a few miles from the walls is certainly not putting people's mind at rest… " he said with a smile.

Countess Carvain shrugged while continuing fanning herself. Her forehead was covered in sweat and her cheeks were very red.

"Of course, we should have expected that." she said, and her eyes narrowed. "And I am sure we have. Because, obviously, our Emperor has thought of another solution, hasn't he…?"

At the words, all glances converged toward Martin, who gives a small embarrassed cough. Well, things seemed so obvious to him when he was in Bruma. His plan was very simple: rushing into the city, taking Sigrid out of her prison and killing everything that would be standing on his way, running to the Temple of the One and, once there, relighting the Dragon fires, getting married and, eventually, becoming Emperor.

Now he was realizing that his rage had been such he had not taken the time of thinking about the possibility of the door being closed, not about an alternative, and he looked so sure of himself that nobody actually found necessary to ask him if he had actually considered different options.

How stupid he had been. As if the gates of the Imperial City were about to open magically in front of him!

"_Mental note for later."_ Martin thought. _"Anger is a bad councilor."_

"Well, er…" he then started aloud, biting the nail of his thumb nervously as he desperately searched for something to say. But fortunately, it was the moment the author of the clever remark about "the-gates-being-closed" chose to make another of his witty comments.

"Hey!" exclaimed the Bruma officer, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "What if we try to get into the Imperial City via the sewers…?"

There was another embarrassed pause and the officer huddled up under the killer gaze of Captain Burn.

"Oh yes, the Imperial City sewers!" said Burn breaking up the silence and slapping his forehead with his palm in a theatrical move. "What a good idea! Of course, the Council will _never_ think we may try to get in using the sewers... I mean, no one _ever_ use the sewers, hey? And especially not thieves, assassins, Goblins, rats, the Blades, the Mythic Dawn agents or _even an army trying to sneak in_…"

"Don't tell me…" said Lucien Lachance, turning toward the officer who was now very red in the face – and not because of the warmth. "You are the one who decided to install those braziers in the tent, aren't you?"

The officer beamed at him.

"Yes sir!"

"I should have known…" whispered Lucien.

"Well, all that is good, but we still don't know how to get into the city…" ventured Vanin. Like the others, sweat was running down his face, and he was nervously playing with his mage staff, making little green sparks running along the wooden stick.

"Could magic help us there?" asked Martin.

"I am afraid not, your Lordship…" sighed the mage. "Given the number people attending the New Year Eve's festivities, the Chancellor asked the mages to help the Legion to keep order in the streets, which are probably crawling with battle mages now. And those cunning little bastards are able to sense magic kilometers away. They would bust us as soon as I use one of my enchantments…"

"'Cunning little bastards?'" asked Captain Burd, raising an eyebrow. "But you are a battle mage yourself!"

The old mage chuckled and winked at Burd.

"Well, this is exactly what I mean!" he exclaimed happily, slapping Burd in the back. The Captain rolled his eyes.

"Sorry to interrupt you, gentlemen, but should I understand that we are _stuck_ there?" asked the Countess in such an icy voice that even the braziers seem unable to resist the cold spell. There was a concert of feet scrapings and unease coughs, and suddenly everybody seemed very interested by the ceiling.

"Well, we will never enter the city with the army, that's for sure." said Lucien, putting an end to the general embarrassment. "But," he continued, raising a hand to cut the Countess' protestations, "there is still a solution for a small group of men to get in…"

"Are you deaf?" exclaimed Jauffre. "We just said that all accesses are under watch! No one can get in!"

"No, I am not deaf." replied the Speaker softly. "And not _all_ accesses are blocked…There is still a passage that will bring us just _there_."

Saying this, he emphatically pointed at something on the map which was laying on the table and, as one man everybody craned his or her neck to take a better look.

"Oh no…" grumbled J'Ghasta, looking Aetheriusyards and joining his hands together as if he was praying. "Please, not _that_…"

"But there is nothing there…" said Ontus Vanin, frowning and scratching his head as he looked at the point Lucien was showing.

"Well, actually, there is…"

"No, Lucien, _no_!" spat J'Ghasta, pushing Vanin aside and shaking a threatening finger under Lucien's nose. "This is supposed to be a _secret_…"

"Oh, a secret?" asked Baurus, ignoring the Khajiit and peering over Lucien's shoulder. "And what is it exactly?"

"An annex to the sewers." replied Lucien while J'Ghasta gave a little roar of anger. "Come on, Listener, we don't have the choice and you know it…"

For a second, the Khajiit looked like he was going to burst out. He gritted his teeth and from his throat came a sound like a growl. But finally, he took a deep breath, and sighing, made a gesture with his hands meaning "do-whatever-you-want" before he went back near the brazier and started sulking.

"This is a narrow passageway that was created _before_ the… _modern_ networks of sewers were built three centuries ago." explained Lucien to the audience. "It is still in use, but for some reasons, everybody seems to have forgotten its existence – which is quite lucky for us, actually."

"Right. Fine. Let's admit that this access is not guarded…. Even in that case, I doubt the whole army will get through that narrow gallery…" Captain Burn pointed out.

"No, it won't, because it won't have to." said Lucien with a smile. "Now, here is my idea. A small group of people is going to infiltrate the city by the gallery. Once in, they will neutralize the guards at the Talos gate, and open it to allow a small contingent to get in."

Lucien made a pause and looked at the audience. He tried not to smile when he realized than almost everyone in the room was glaring at him, mouth half opened and looking completely captivated.

"Once these troops are in," he continued, "they will rush to the other gates and open them, allowing the rest of the army to enter the city."

Lucien crossed his arms on his chest theatrically and a very long silence punctuated his little exposé.

"This seems a bit far-fetched, but… It may well work." said Vanin after a while.

"Actually, it is so far-fetched it is probably going to work…" added Martin in a whisper.

As everybody was grumping and growling their approval, someone cleared his throat very noisily, and all eyes riveted on the Grandmaster of the Blades.

"I just would like to have more precisions…" said Jauffre, looking very suspicious. "You said that…_ stuff_ was still in use… But what is its _use _exactly?"

For the first time in the evening, Lucien seemed to be looking for his words. His pale skin looked a little bit paler, and worried wrinkles appeared on his forehead.

"Well, er…" He stopped and turned toward J'Ghasta, apparently looking for support, but the Khajiit was looking at the ceiling with an obvious smirk on his face. Lucien gave a big sigh and turned back toward the Grandmaster of the Blades. "Hmm, let's just say this gallery is directly linked to… certain part of Talos Plaza buildings."

Jauffre's eyes narrowed.

"Which part?"

"The, er… toilets." Lucien replied with an anxious grin.

There was another long silence, but horrified this time.

"Now that's really interesting!" exclaimed Ontus Vanin cheerfully. "I have always thought that everything was directly landing in the city sewers…! And now I learn there is a parallel network. Remarkable!"

"Yay…Awesome…" muttered J'Ghasta.

"Wait, wait, wait…" said Baurus, blinking. "You mean… We are going to wade in the…_shit_?"

"Well, er, I would not have put it that way, but very likely, yes…" replied Lucien.

"Ah. Fine. Er and… you are sure the place is safe…?"

Lucien rolled his eyes.

"I can guarantee you it should be competently empty. Even rats and Goblins avoid going down there…"

"Oh? Why?" asked Martin, sounding a bit nervous. He did not seem to be very enthusiastic about the plan anymore.

"Because this place is _gross_! Gross with a capital 'G'!" J'Ghasta burst out, grabbing Martin by the collar and starting shaking him. "It is the latrines! You know, 'latrines'? '_la-tri-na_', in Imperialin? "

"Well, can't it be worst than the 'normal' sewers?" asked Captain Burd while Baurus and Lucien were trying to separate Martin and J'Ghasta. "After all, they are not supposed to be clean and smelling like rose either..."

"Yes, but the 'normal' sewers are not _only _dedicated to the evacuation of… you know." replied Lucien, gently pushing a grumbling J'Ghasta back toward his brazier. "I mean, the regular network is maintained on a regular basis and the rains that are canalized in the sewers wash most of the…waste. This is not the case with our gallery…"

"Ahahah!" laughed Captain Burn nervously. "I thought we had problems, but this time, we are literally in the shit up to the ne..."

"Well, it is a very risky plan…" said the Countess, shooting Captain Burd a very dark look. "But honestly, we don't have anything else at the moment. And it is so dumb that no one will expect us to do that…"

"Dumb? Well, thank you!" muttered Lucien, sounding offended.

"So, if we all agree…" said Martin to the assembly. "Who wants to volunteer?"

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It was already very late at night when Martin entered the tent under which weapons had been stocked. He knew he should have tried to get some sleep instead, but he was far too exited and worried to get any rest. Exited because it was the first time he was going on a commando mission to save someone, and worried because he was not sure how the person they were trying to save was going to react…

After all, Sigrid probably still thought Martin had betrayed her on purpose and ignored that he had been manipulated. And given her temper, she would probably be more inclined to scratch his eyes out during her next reunion rather than throwing her arms around his neck, crying in happiness...

But he would have more time to think about all that later. What he needed now was to find himself a suitable weapon…

As Martin was about to make his choice among the different weapons put on display, a swish made him turn around. A dark silhouette was standing at the entrance of the tent. It took a step forward, and, the in the light of the torch Martin recognized the face of Lucien Lachance.

"Ah. It is you." said Martin.

"Yes, it is me." Lucien replied sarcastically. "Who else did you expect? Your Redguard babysitter?"

Martin pursued his lips and shot the assassin a look on which one could have cooked sausages. Lucien shrugged and nonchalantly walk toward a rack on which were laying several short silver swords. Martin observed the assassin as he took a short silver sword and started to execute a few movements of parry and attacks.

"Assassins use swords?" asked Martin. "I thought you people were keener on daggers and poison…"

"A good assassin can kill anyone with anything." said Lucien, still performing some thrusts, and Martin could only admire his dexterity. "Once, one of my men eliminated one of his targets with a salad spinner."

"How on Nirn can you kill someone with a salad spinner?!"

"You really would not like to know…" replied Lucien and Martin did not miss the hint of threat in his voice. "And anyway, what is up to you? As if priests were able to understand something about weapons…"

There was a silence, only interrupted by the silky sound made by the sword's blade cutting the air.

"You don't like me, do you?" Martin finally asked.

Lucien stopped playing with the sword and put it back on its rack. Martin saw his shoulder getting up then down when the assassin took a deep breath.

"No, I don't like you." he replied softly, turning toward Martin. "And I have the feeling that it is reciprocal, even if I am not sure to understand well why…"

"What is the exact nature of your relationship with Sigrid?" Martin asked bluntly.

He was decided not to beat around the bush anymore. The question had been burning his lips for days and he had tried to work that out during their journey from Bruma to the Imperial City, questioning J'Ghasta indirectly as well as Gogron and Teinaava. But all had given him rather evasive answers, far too evasive not to hide something. And Martin was determined to find out what that "something" was.

"Oh, I see now…" asked Lucien sarcastically. His eyes narrowed and a malevolent gleam appeared in his pupils. "Could Mister 'Perfect Son-In-Law' be jealous?"

"I am not jealous!" Martin burst out, sounding far too incensed to be convincing.

"No, of course you are not… It is not as if Prince Charming could be afraid of competition, isn't it?"

Lucien's smile grew wider as he said this. And it was certainly the creepiest smile Martin had ever seen in his life. The assassin seemed to be saying "Look, I have teeth. And I am sure you would not want me to use them". And given the profession of the man who was… smiling, Martin should have been terrified. But he was not. On the contrary, the assassin's despise was acting on him as a spur and he was decided not to let himself teased by this unbearable playboy puffed with pride.

"Oh, so you are not only outrageously arrogant, you are also completely stupid…" Martin started with faint detachment. And to his greatest pleasure, he saw Lachance blinking.

"I beg your pardon?" the assassin asked in a voice as soft as silk – the kind of silk in which garrottes are made off.

"But there is no more competition, Lachance." Martin ruffled in his pocked and took out the ring he offered Sigrid before he exposed it under Lucien's nose. "Sigrid Trencavel made her choice. I thought this was pretty clear to everyone…"

In spite of himself, Martin hold his breath when he realized the assassin's face had turned a bit green and that his arrogant smirk had frozen into an horrible snarl.

"_Crap."_ Martin thought, his eyes looking around the room to find the closest weapon. _"Crap, crap, crap. He is going to kill me…"_

But Lachance was standing still and after a while, his features relaxed. Nevertheless the hatred that was emanating from him was so strong Martin could almost feel its taste.

"Stupid and arrogant, yes…" said Lachance in a very low voice. "But it is true I have nothing to teach about stupidity or arrogance to a man who doesn't even care about reading what he is signing and thus condemned his…_love _to a certain death."

This time, it was Martin's turn to look shocked. As when Jauffre had admitted he had betrayed Sigrid and deceived his Emperor, Martin's first reflex was to punch Lachance in the face. But something prevented him to do so. Something that had nothing to do with the fact he would probably have his ass kicked by a professional assassin, but was instead linked to the feeling that Lachance was expecting something from him… And suddenly, MArtin understood.

"No. No…" he said, shaking his head. "This is why you have come here, hey, Lachance? You are just looking for a fight, aren't you? All your insults, your mockery… But I won't give you that satisfaction."

And saying this, Martin walked resolutely toward the exit. But Lucien was quicker than him, and in two steps, he was standing in front of the exit, blocking Martin's way.

"Get out of my way, Lachance." Martin said firmly. "I said I won't fight with you."

The two observed one another like cats for a moment. Then Lucien cracked Martin one of his most seductive and friendly smiles.

"Oh, you won't, will you?" asked Lucien.

And saying this, he punched Martin very hard in the stomach.

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Outside, at the limit of the camp, J'Ghasta was trying to get things organized with the Black Hands members as well as with the twenty other assassins he had recruited for this mission. Most of them came from the different sanctuaries of Cyrodiil, but the Cheydinhall sanctuary was well represented as all members have asked to join the little expedition – all, except for M'raaj-Dar, who also volunteered, but only to stay in the sanctuary to guard it.

"All right! So does everyone know what he or she has to do?" asked J'Ghasta, cupping his hands round his mouth.

A chorus of "Yes, Dear Listener!" replied to him.

"Good. And if you have any question, it is now or never…"

Someone in the background raised a hand and J'Ghasta gave a sigh when he recognized the big shadow of Gogron Gro-Bolmog.

"No, Gogron, _no_!" spat the Khajiit. "For the last time, you cannot come with us!"

"But Honorable Listener!" the Orc protested. "You need someone able to cut your way through that nasty gallery!"

And matching his action with his words, he started shaking his axe menacingly, attacking some invisible enemy. But in his enthusiasm, he almost beheaded his neighbors, among those Teinaava, who jumped on the Orc's foot to make him drop his axe.

"Arrrgh!" yelled Gogron, jumping on his valid foot while holding the other. "That hurts!"

"It was the general idea, you see…" replied Teinaava nastily.

"You little…!" growled Gogron, grabbing the Argonian by the front of his amour and lifting him above the ground.

"Enough!" the Khajiit bawled, and the Orc immediately dropped Teinaava on the floor. "You see, Gogron? This is exactly why you won't come with us! We need people who are able to _sneak_! Not undisciplined people, who run around yelling, behead their allies and start fighting with the survivors!"

"But Listener…" started the Orc.

And then, J'Ghasta saw one to the most terrorizing scene of his life. Gogron Gro-Bolmog, an Orc who had killed so many people, who was even taking pleasure in sending children's souls to the void, tried to make _puppy eyes_.

The Khajiit was not sure where the Orc had learned this, but he was ready to bet that Antoinetta Marie was behind this. It was the Breton girl's secret weapon, the one she used when Vicente Valtieri was yelling at her because she had cooked a dish with garlic or had blown half of the sanctuary when trying to make a new potion. Her technique was good and she was often successful, actually, but Antoinetta was a cute little blond Breton girl with clear blue eyes, while Gogron was a gigantic green and muscular Orc…

"Stop doing that Gogron, for Sithis' sake!" spat J'Ghasta. "It makes you look like a giant toad eyeing a fly!"

There were some giggles from the audience. The big Orc looked offended, and, after having bowed to the Listener very stiffly, he walked a few feet away from the group of assassins and started to sulk.

"Good. Now that everyone knows his or her part, all I can do is wishing you good luck. May the Night Mother look upon you all!"

And without a sound, the assassins vanished in the night.

He was about to leave back to the camp when he heard a voice behind him.

"You know, you could have let Gogron join us…" said Baurus, who had observed the whole show from a distance and had finally rejoined J'Ghasta. "I saw him fighting at the battle of Bruma. And after all, as anybody has not used the gallery in a while, we are not sure that this part of the sewers is actually _empty_…"

"It is, believe me…" growled J'Ghasta between his gritted teeth. "There is nothing that could survive for too long down there…"

"_And especially not the most heteroclite commando in military history..."_ the Khajiit thought, mentally passing in review the team which would get down the gallery: a mage so fat he could not see the tip of his toes, a wanna be Emperor, a Blade who, for some reason, reminded everyone of a panda, a ruthless assassin with a broken heart and another ruthless assassin who was – and this was a secret – claustrophobic. They all had volunteered, and if J'Ghasta could understand the different motivations of his companions, he was still wondering why he had decided to join.

"Now, how have I managed to let convinced myself to join you in that silly expedition?" he said aloud, whining.

"Well, your friend Lachance can be_ extremely_ convincing…" replied the Redguard cheerfully.

The Khajiit made a pout and sighed heavily. He was tired. So tired…

When he had received that urgent message from Ocheeva, he knew that something went wrong. But he truly had no idea how badly wrong they went, and he almost had a heart attack when he realized that the terrible news had nothing to do with Lucien strangling himself with his chain out of rage and frustration but concerned Trencavel and Valtieri…

His brains were so fogged with rage he had to make Antoinetta repeating her story three times before he could get everything right. And after having expressed his fury by yelling at that poor Ocheeva and breaking some furniture, he and the rest of the Black Hand had spent most of the night trying to come up with a rescue plan and determining if Lucien should come with them or not…

J'Ghasta was dead against the idea, but as Arquen pointed out, they needed everyone's help, and as Shaleez had mysteriously disappeared… This, of course, did not improve the Khajiit's mood, and it got worst when Lucien underlined the fact that the mages awareness' of Vicente's weakness to garlic was certainly the result of treason. _Another_ treason… At the very thought, J'Ghasta felt his coat bristling. He did not want betrayal to become a habit within the Dark Brotherhood…

But things were not going too badly for the moment, and J'Ghasta was not sure why he was still feeling so annoyed. Well, of course, he had to make sure during the entire journey from Bruma to the Imperial City that Lucien and Septim did not try to jump at each other throats. They had barely exchanged a word, but it had been pretty obvious to everyone that those two hated each other cordially…And of course, there was the little walk in the sewers…

J'Ghasta had really hoped that Septim would have objected to the whole project – saying bullshit about his dignity of Emperor, or something like that. But unfortunately, he did not, and J'Ghasta hated himself for not having been able to foresee that a) Lucien would have come up with the idea, b) and how Septim was smitten with Sigrid.

"He is really in love with Trencavel, isn't he?" asked the Khajiit.

"Who?" said Baurus, slightly puzzled by the question.

"Martin Septim."

"Oh. Oh yes, yes." said the Redguard, nodding frantically. "Once, he told me that his whole life started to make sense when he met her, and that she was the star which was shining in the firmament of his existence."

The Khajiit blinked.

"Hey?"

"He is a very romantic person, you know…" explained Baurus, sounding almost like he was apologizing. J'Ghasta opened his mouth to say something but closed it quickly, looking suddenly very thoughtful.

"Romantic?"

"Yes, romantic." Baurus scratched his head. "You know… Like flowers, serenades under the balcony, sunsets, little pink clouds…"

"Butterflies?" the Khajiit ventured.

"As well."

Romantics… It had always puzzled J'Ghasta a lot. A long time ago, Vicente Valtieri had tried to initiate him to the concept, but he had to admit he had never been very good at it. Oh, he had give it a try once, after a very boozing party, and all he had managed to come up with consisted in peeing in the snow to write his current girlfriend's name... It was a complete failure at being romantic, true, but the real problems came when his girlfriend's father recognized his daughter's handwriting…

"Where is Lucien?" J'Ghasta asked suddenly to take his mind away from very painful memories. Baurus made a vague gesture toward a tent.

"He is in this tent, with Martin. He said he wanted to help him to find a suitable weapon…"

J'Ghasta froze at the words and Baurus saw the Khajiit's eyes opening wide.

"You mean that they are _together_?"

"Er…Yes."

"Together and _alone_?"

Baurus frowned and looked at the Khajiit, puzzled.

"Well, I think so. What is the…? Hey, J'Ghasta!" he exclaimed as the Khajiit broke into a run toward the tent. Baurus swore under his breath and followed him. The Khajiit entered the tent and Baurus heard J'Ghasta roaring in rage. Dreading the worst, Baurus got in as well, and froze when he realized what was going on.

Martin and Lucien were rolling on the floor, either trying to poke their opponent's eyes or to bite him, while J'Ghasta was making desperate effort to separate them, yelling them to stop.

The Redguard recovered from his surprised and with his help, they finally managed to separate the two adversaries.

Martin was sitting on the floor, his nose bleeding abundantly and apparently not paying attention at all to Baurus, who had kneeled beside him and was asking him how he felt. As for Lucien, he was dragged away by an incensed J'Ghasta.

"What do you think you are doing?!" yelled the Khajiit as he pushed Lucien violently against the pillar which was supporting the tent. "You have completely lost your marbles or what?!"

Behind him, he could hear Baurus helping a rather shocked Martin getting back on his feet.

"Never you mind…" snarled Lucien while whipping his bleeding mouth with his sleeve.

J'Ghasta growled menacingly. He grabbed Lucien by the collar of his shirt, lifting him up and putting his muzzle right under Lucien's face.

"Now listen carefully, dude…" J'Ghasta started between gritted teeth, his chops curled up. "We have been friends for many years, all right. We have shared many things together, fine. But that does not entitle you to talk to me like that! I am your Listener! Your superior! Is that clear?"

Lucien smirked. His feet were barely touching the ground – the Khajiit was far taller than he was – but he was staring at him with a defiant look on his face.

"My superior, yes. A superior who had let himself being overtaken by the events..!"

"What?"

"Come on… Listener. Admit you don't have the stature for the job!"

Everything happened very quickly. J'Ghasta dropped Lucien on the floor and no one saw one of his hands slapping the Speaker across the face. But they all heard the little _schlep!_ noise as the Khajiit's claws scratched Lucien's left cheek and a bit of blood splashed on the wall of the tent and on the ground.

Something heavier than silence fell on the tent. Something which said "darn, I wish I was somewhere else. Somewhere very, very far away from here".

"_Get out of my sight_!" J'Ghasta roared, breaking the heavy silence and pointing at the exit.

Lucien's face was very still and white – apart from the blood which was running down his chick and neck – as if he was wearing a mask made out of marble. But his eyes were speaking for him, and for a second, everybody thought he was going to jump at the Khajiit throat. But finally, he clenched his fists a few times and got out of the tent without casting a glance behind him.

Inside, everything was still silent, as no one had dared to speak yet. J'Ghasta passed a hand over his face and then turned toward Martin.

"I don't know who started it, and I don't want to find out…" the Khajiit hissed, putting a menacing finger under Martin's nose. "But I seriously believe that we have other things to do than fighting against each other."

He then walked toward the exit, and just before getting out, he stopped and turned toward Baurus and Martin.

"You'd better get some rest now." he said in a gentler voice. "We all will need it."

And he left the tent.

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_Sitting on a rock, the Ankou was calmly polishing the blade of his scythe, while whistling __between his decaying teeth a popular Breton folksong. Around him were dancing long blue strings of what looked like gleaming mist. _

_Fascinated, Sigrid walked toward them and she cautiously tried to touch __one. The blue ribbon slowly wrapped around her wrist, and Sigrid shook her arm to make it go away. But as she managed to get rid of it, another ribbon wrapped around her other wrist, while another wrapped around her waist and another around her neck… Then they started to pull her toward the Ankou. The girl struggled to get free, and opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. Smiling evilly, the Ankou raised his scythe… _

_And…_

Sigrid sat up straight on her straw mattress, breathing heavily, her eyes opened wide in terror. She blinked several times and finally managed to calm down the mad beating of her heart. She recognised the now familiar stones of the walls of her cell as well as the smell of human sweat and dejections as well as the global impression of despair which was filling the Imperial Prison. But for once, Sigrid found all those elements reassuring – even if she could not prevent herself shooting a glance behind her back to make sure the Ankou had not followed her from the realms of her dream…

"Another nightmare?" asked the exhausted voice of Vicente Valtieri.

The vampire was still very weak, but at least they had stopped splashing him with garlic. He was now able to breathe normally, to sit up right and even managed to take a few steps in his cell yesterday. Sigrid was not sure whether the end of Vicente's ordeal was resulting from the Council's decision to execute a vampire who truly looked like one and not like a complete wreck, or if Count Janus Hassildor had made clear to their jailers than some of them may be drained of their precious blood if they kept torturing Valtieri... For some reasons, Sigrid was inclined to favour the second option.

"Yes, another nightmare…" the girl replied in a murmur. "Always the same…"

She got up on shaky legs and managed to reach the tub of water that a guard had kindly given her.

"_Probably another 'present' from Hassildor."_ she thought while washing her face. The water was starting to get slightly dirty, but at least, it was better than nothing.

"What time is it?" she asked more or less to herself as she dried her face with her dirty prisoner uniform.

"I'd rather say around midday. The watchman came around here yelling it was ten o'clock and that all was fine and it was more than an hour ago…"

"Yeah, all is fine…" Sigrid said bitterly. "We are going to be executed tonight, what a good day indeed…"

"I am sorry, Sigrid." the vampire murmured. "I am so sorry…"

Sigrid bit her lips because she felt about replying something nasty – and unfair – to Vicente. He had kept repeating that he was sorry, that all that happened was his fault and the like. Sigrid had tried to comfort him, but deep into her heart, she felt like blaming him for everything, even if he was not responsible. Her despair, fear and hatred had turned into a cold rage, and she really needed a scapegoat at the moment. But fortunately, she cared too much about Vicente to let herself being overcome by her anger.

"I have always been unable to protect those I care about." the vampire continued, and this time, there was so much despair in his voice that a lump materialized in Sigrid's throat. "Rivanone was assassinated by Uvani, you got… molested by Montfort and are about to get executed."

"'_Molested'…"_ Sigrid sniggered mentally. _"Nice euphemism…"_

She was playing the though one, but she did not want Vicente to work out that her current worst fear was not her execution, but another session of…"molestation" by Foulques Montfort. At the very thought, she felt she was about to vomit, and decided to change of subject quickly.

"Vicente… During all this months we spent together as the Sanctuary…Why did you never tell me about you and my grandmother?"

A deep sigh answered her.

"Vicente? Please?" Sigrid insisted.

Another deep sigh.

"Well, it would have been a bit weird, wouldn't it?" Vicente finally answered. "How would you have taken it if I had come to you and said 'Hello, I am Vicente Valtieri and your grandmother and I had a love affair for years'?"

"Well, I might have reacted a bit badly…" conceded Sigrid. "But you could have tried to tell me that indirectly… Like that you had slept with a famous Breton bard or something…"

There was a silence, interrupted by the regular and humid noise of a drop falling into a small pool of muddy water somewhere in the prison.

"Why did you love her?" asked Sigrid, ready to ask anything to make up her last blunder.

"Because she was such a special person." replied Vicente in a dreamy voice. "She was arrogant, extremely cruel, but she was also kind of honest – in a very twisted way – intelligent and she really cared for the persons who were under her responsibility." The vampire stopped, and even if Sigrid could not see his face, she was ready to bet he had a faraway look in the eyes. "And I also love her because… she was the first person not to consider me as a monster." he added in a whisper.

Sigrid's jaw dropped at the words. This really did not sound like Vicente at all. Indeed, he had _always_ spoken of being a vampire as a wonderful thing. _The Dark Gift_… He had even offered her to turn her into one – an offer Sigrid had decided to decline because as a bard, she was definitely a public person, and being a vampire would definitely be a handicap. Indeed, crumbling into dust in the middle of a performance would certainly not do any good to her popularity._ The Dark Gift…_Sigrid was slowly realizing that Vicente was a far more complex character than she first thought, and she felt sorry she would not have the time to learn more about him and his past…

"So, you were both very close…" she started again.

"Rivanone was everything to me." murmured the vampire. "When she died, a part of me died as well… Sorry to sound that dramatic…" he added with a little smile. "You know, I have never talked to anyone about that. Even to J'Ghasta and Lucien…"

"Thanks for telling me all this, Vicente." Sigrid sighed. "I am sorry they took the last thing that belonged to her…'

Indeed, her captors had retrieved all her belongings, from Martin's wedding ring to Rivanone's necklace. She probably would not see those two items ever again, and hatred and anger rose in her chest again at the thought of Mahaut or Foulques wearing them… She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to calm down.

"When you said Lucien and J'Ghasta would try to get us out of here…" she said once she had managed to recover her calm. "You weren't serious, were you?"

"Oh, I was _extremel_y serious, Sigrid." Vicente said with a smile. "You know, if they were ordered to kill us, they would do it – and probably without remorse. But they are also extremely possessive, and, like Rivanone, they really can get quite upset with people messing up with their little 'belongings'… She really trained them well…"

Sigrid could not retain a smile.

"You lots are a bunch of complete psychos…"

Vicente beamed in the dark.

"No, not a bunch, Sigrid. A family."

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J'Ghasta was looking sadly at the Imperial City walls, where he knew the entry of the latrines was. The place was two miles away, but he could smell the latrines from here… Or maybe was it his imagination?

"J'Ghasta?" asked a voice behind him.

The Khajiit turned around to face Baurus.

"I just wanted to let you know everybody is ready." the Redguard continued. "We are all waiting for your orders…"

J'Ghasta gave a big sigh. Yes, now Lucien was gone, they were all relying on him…

"Tell me, Baurus. Can you smell something?"

Slightly surprised, the Redguard sniffed the air a few times, and raised an eyebrow.

"No, I can't… Should I?"

"No, not really. I don't know why I asked you that… Still no new from Lucien?" he asked, even if he knew the answer perfectly.

Baurus shook his head.

"No. No one has seen him since… what happened."

J'Ghasta sighed. He knew his reaction had been very correct. He even had been far too soft. If someone else would have been Listener, Lucien would probably be looking for his guts all around the place now. And maybe it would have been preferable…. Who knew what Lucien and his colossal and badly hurt ego would do now? And actually, who knew J'Ghasta would have to do to punish such kind of insubordination…?

"Well, we can't wait anymore." the Khajiit said firmly. "The sun is going to rise in less than an hour, and we need to beneficiate from the cover of the night if we want to get near the city walls without being busted by the Legion…"

J'Ghasta stopped talking as his attention was suddenly drawn by a move a few feet away. A shadow was walking toward him and Baurus, and it did not take more than half a second to J'Ghasta to identify Lucien. He had washed his face from the blood, but his left cheek was still gashed by four deep scarlet cuts. He stopped in front of J'Ghasta and shot him a blank look.

"Ah. You are back." said J'Ghasta impassively.

"Yes. I am." Lucien replied, equally neutrally.

Baurus cleared his throat noisily.

"Er, well. I am going to tell Martin and the others we should go now, all right?"

And without waiting for an answer, he cleared off without further ado. J'Ghasta and Lucien continued to glare at one another in silence. Somewhere in the bush, a thrush started to song.

"I am sorry." Lucien said in a breath.

J'Ghasta blinked and curbed his urge to ask him to repeat what he had just said. Blimey, if he had imagined that one day he would have heard Lucien Lachance apologizing about something, he would never have believed it.

"I know." J'Ghasta replied softly.

"And I did not think what I said." Lucien continued and his shoulders subsided out of shame. "I don't know what happened, really… I have never lost the control of myself like that… It is Septim… He seriously gets on my nerves."

"You _really_ don't like Septim, do you?" asked J'Ghasta sounding very amused.

Lucien had a little yet sad smile

"He is just so perfect. Nice, caring, brave… The perfect guy for her."

J'Ghasta tried to find something to say, but failed lamentably. What could have he said anyway? He patted Lucien on his shoulder and turned around to look at the camp.

"What the hell are they doing?" moaned the Khajiit. "I told them to pack the minimum of stuffs!"

"You are right. We'd better hurry." said Lucien. "And not only because the sun is rising. I really don't feel conformable about having left M'raaj-Dar alone with Scribonius in the sanctuary."

"Why?" asked J'Ghasta, surprised. "They seemed to get along very well, you know… Just before we left, they were talking about starting a breeding of Dark Chewers… "

"Well, that's my point actually…"

The both interrupted their discussion when they saw a small group running toward them.

"We are ready!" boomed Vanin once near the two assassins. Lucien looked at the mage's happy face and gave a small cough.

"Er, what is it you have on your face?" he asked carefully.

"Camouflage!" exclaimed Vanin happily. He then took a conspiratorial expression and tapped on the side of his nose with his forefinger. "You know, as we are going on a commando mission and all…"

"Camouflage…" Lucien repeated in a very neutral tone, shooting the others a puzzled look. The mage face was covered in strips of different colors, ranging from dark green to brown, with little touches of black. But he was still wearing his infamous set of very colorful mage robes.

"I am afraid that the only efficient camouflage in the latrines would be a disguise as a toilet paper roll or as bog brush…" J'Ghasta smirked.

"This is the camouflage we used in Battle Mage Commandos!" Vanin protested.

The Khajiit's smirk widened.

"No wonder why they were completely decimated…"

"Hum, who is going to lead our little expedition?" asked Baurus to kill in the shell the argument between the mage and the Listener.

"I am." said Lucien firmly. "It was my plan, we are using my map, and I am one of the last people who have used this gallery."

He looked at the persons around. No one made any objection, and his eyes crossed Martin's. The latter did not look away, a defiant expression on his face, but did not protest either.

"Good." approved Lucien. "Let's go then… And I hope no one forgot his nose plugs…"


	22. The Rescue III

**Chapter 22**

**Yay, an update after 3 weeks… cough **

**The next update will take a bit longer, given the fact that I am going to write the last chapter (very long) as well as the epilogue (quite long as well). **

**Again, huge thanks to readers, reviewers from and particular thanks to my friends on DA, who are a continued source of inspiration … **

**So, thank you Sycofreak (great writer), Hash****akgig (great screenies taker), LordWolf (great photographer), Sometimes Normal (great drawer), Fail35 (great drawers and awesome story teller), 666****th**** Heretic (great commenter XD), Cerviero (great drawer as well), Greedofan (great drawer again), Exotice1911 (great writer), Allshallfade (great writer and that's an euphemism…) Darkrayn (another great writer) and of course, a huge thanks to the wonderful Vampire Apple (VA). And sorry for all those I forgot to mention. It is late here and I feel a bit light-headed…XD**

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Deep down the subterranean passages of the Imperial City, a small troop was making slow progress in a very narrow tunnel full of a mired liquid. There was not much to say about the "landscape" in which the group was evolving, apart from the fact it was very humid, extremely sticky and… amazingly odorant.

Contrary to what most of the members of the troop thought, and to their greatest displeasure, the gallery did not consist in a single tunnel but into many little branches, which, according to Lucien Lachance, leaded all to the same point. The thing was to find the shortest way to the exit before getting suffocated by the revolting effluvia of the latrines.

"It stinks." said someone for the tenth time.

Lucien rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes. We all noticed, thank you Master Vanin…" he replied dryly.

The Speaker was leading them, holding in his hands a codified map he was trying to decipher while being lighted by J'Ghasta's torch. His face was all tensed in concentration as well as in repugnance. They had all decided to remove their nose plugs as they were not efficient and made them talking in a very stupid nasal voice which was getting on everybody's nerves. And the Gods knew they did not need that at the moment…

"But I mean it really _does_!" Vanin insisted, making a disgusted face. "What are those people eating to manage to…?"

Ontus Vanin's mouth shut close when J'Ghasta swiftly turned toward him, looking clearly mad.

"Man, we are in the _latrines_!" the Khajiit burst out in rage. "What did you expect?! And for Sithis' sake, stop _complaining!_ My sense of smell is at least three times superior to yours, so what should _I_ say?!"

J'Ghasta's hysterical voice echoed sinisterly in the narrow corridor. It died away shortly but a shiver ran along the spine of all the persons present. Of course, they had not crossed anything alive – or dead – until now, but it did not mean the sewers where actually empty. This place was old and very, very quiet – apart from a regular _splotch!_ noise, which origin was unfortunately very well known by everyone...

Nevertheless, more than the absolute repulsiveness of the place, it was the general atmosphere that was getting on the group's nerves. Lucien had said that this part of the sewers had been built a few centuries ago. And as it was the case during those times, the architects had retrieved some building material from the numerous Ayleid ruins that were covering the province of Cyrodiil. And who knew with what kind of evil impregnated those stones?

And if anything happened, the group knew it could only rely on itself to solve whatever unexpected problems that would pop up, because no one would come to come rescue them…

"In the latrines, no one can hear you scream…" Baurus murmured, more or less voicing everybody's thought.

"All right, all right…" started Martin in a tone he wanted to be appeasing. "We are_ all_ a bit tensed and we _all_ have not slept much last night, but we should try to…"

A small noise, like a growl, interrupted him.

"What…was…that?" asked Baurus, turning a bit pale and putting his hand on his Akaviri katana's hilt.

Everybody in the group froze when the little growl was followed by a terrible one, like the roar of a starving beast lurking in the shadows. As one man, they all drew their weapons and came into guard, ready to face the worst…

"Ooops, my deepest apologies, gentlemen!" said Vanin with a big smile while tapping on his fat belly. "I am afraid I am a little hungry…"

Everyone lower his sword. The general embarrassment was such that everyone carefully tried not to look at one another when they put their weapons back in their sheath.

"Man, are you crazy?" spat J'Ghasta. "How can you think about eating in such circumstances?"

"But_ I_ am not thinking about it. It is my _stomach_ which is!" the mage protested.

"J'Ghasta? Would you mind moving your torch toward me? I can't see anything…" said Lucien who had no problem to see at all, but wanted to put an end to the argument as well as to try to divert the Khajiit's mind a bit.

The Speaker was perfectly aware of J'Ghasta's huge claustrophobia problem, and currently, there was nothing much he could do against that. During their training as assassins, Rivanone had tried diverse… "methods" to help him to overcome his fear – being claustrophobic could be quite a handicap when you are an assassin supposed to hide in narrow and dark corners – but, in Lucien's opinion, she only had managed to make things worst. When blocked in a tiny space, the Khajiit tended to be particularly aggressive, yelled at everyone, and unfortunately, his anxiety and bad temper were quite communicative...

"I wonder if it was very prudent to bring torches down there…" said Baurus, scratching his chin and looking slightly worried. "I mean, with all the gazes resulting from the decomposition of all this shi… organic material in a very narrow space, with no airing…"

"Oh, _shut up_…!" shrieked J'Ghasta, who now really wished he could cower in a corner and suck his thumb.

"We have been walking in there for _hours_." Vanin complained. "And I am pretty sure I have seen that huge piles of dejections before…" he added, pointing at something everyone hoped they had not seen at all.

"Could you all just stop _whining_?" grumbled Lucien. "I can't focus on what I am doing!"

The group stopped its progression and Lucien continued to look intensely at the map in a very heavy silence. He finally raised his head when he heard someone giving a small cough.

"We are lost, aren't we?" asked Martin softly.

There was a painful pause and all glances converged toward Lucien, who started to blush and sank behind his map to hide his face.

"Of course we are not!" he replied, sounding extremely irritated. "I am just, er… making sure we are on the right way… _What_?" he added curtly as Martin and the rest of the group raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"You'd better find your way out of here, my dear friend…" said J'Ghasta between gritted teeth. "Because otherwise, I think I am going to faint - but not before I drown you in that shit!"

"Relax, man." said Lucien. "There are only one entrance and one exit, simply linked by a net of small and inextricable passages. Nothing to worry about."

There was a silence, broken by a now familiar _splotch!_ noise.

"I don't know if you have noticed, Lucien," started Baurus carefully while shooting a worried look at an almost fainting J'Ghasta, "but you just gave us the perfect definition of a labyrinth… What was that noise again?" he added quickly as they all heard some kind of rumbling.

Lucien sighed.

"Master Vanin?"

"Not me." the mage whispered, now looking worried as well.

The rumbling noise was developing quickly. Lucien and Martin exchanged a quick glance and the assassin reported his attention back in the direction of the noise. It was coming from the passage in front of them, and it reminded him of hundreds – no, _thousands_ – of paws splashing in the mire, like a…

"_A millipede."_ Lucien thought, suppressing a nervous chuckle. _"We are being charged by a giant millipede…"_

His worried grin completely faded from his face when it appeared to him that the ground was moving and was looking at him with hundred of little red eyes. His own eyes widened in shock and fear when he realised what was happening…

"Rats!" he yelled. "Run!"

And shouting this, he grabbed both Martin and Vanin by one arm and started dragging them in his way, quickly followed by Baurus and J'Ghasta.

"You said the place was deserted, even by rats and goblins!" yelled Martin.

"Well, I was wrong!" Lucien shouted between two breathes, trying to find an escape in the maze of galleries. "Happy?"

"No!" spat Martin.

Lucien risked an eye behind him. The great flood of rats was gaining ground on them. The animals seemed completely panicked and the assassin knew they would never be able to distance the rodents. Now, their only hope was to find a refuge above the ground, and quickly…

"Lucien!" yelled J'Ghasta. "On your left! A ladder!"

The Speaker blinked and looked in the direction J'Ghasta was pointing at. The Khajiit was right. Against the wall, Lucien distinguished a dozen of rungs fixed in the wall. The ladder was not very high, but enough to put some good distance between them and the rats… Muttering a small prayer to the Dread Father, Lucien branched off into the direction of the ladder.

"J'Ghasta! Baurus!" he yelled, while pointing at rungs. "You two climb first to give a hand to Vanin!"

"I don't need help!" exclaimed the mage, both outraged and out of breath.

"I am not asking your opinion on the matter!" Lucien shouted, pushing Ontus Vanin forward the rungs while Baurus and J'Ghasta were already climbing the ladder rapidly. "Septim! You are next!"

But Martin stood still, looking at him.

"No Lachance, you go first." he said firmly and Lucien's jaw dropped.

"I beg your pardon?!"

"I am leading this expedition." Martin continued in a very calm tone. "It is my duty to make sure that all my men are safe…"

"_Your_ men?!" shrieked Lucien in a high pitched voice, almost strangling himself in rage and disbelief.

"Yes, you are under my responsibility..."

"And you know where you can put your responsibility?!" yelled Lucien. "And may I underline the fact that _I _am the one who is leading this expedition!?"

"Do you really think it is the time to argue about that?" shouted Baurus from above their head.

"Yeah, shift your ass, for Sithis' sake!" J'Ghasta yelled. "They are coming!"

Lucien had a moment of hesitation, but the rambling noise of the rats running toward them finally convinced him. He bared his teeth at Martin, and with the suppleness of a cat, he climbed the fist rungs of ladder, quickly followed by Septim. But the latter was not as fast as the assassin, and some rats managed to grab the lower part of his pants and boots. Martin started to kick in the air to get rid of them, but other rats had grabbed the first ones and were now trying to climb up his legs.

"Get rid of them!" exclaimed Baurus.

"And what do you think I am trying to do!?" Martin yelled back.

Swearing under his breath, Lucien got down the ladder a bit and took his sword out. He started to slash the rats one by one, but this was taking too much time and he risked to hurt Martin. Not that he minded much though, but they needed Septim to relight the Dragonfires and, for that, it would be quite nice if he still had his legs…

"They won't let go!" shouted the Martin, now banging his legs against the wall to knock of the hysterical and panicked rodents. They were now more and more of them, and their weight were dragging Martin down.

"Do something!" exclaimed J'Ghasta, turning toward Vanin. "Shoot those damn rats with your staff!"

"I can't!" said the mage. "I may hurt Septim and Lachance… and if they fell down with the rats…"

Everybody made a disgusted face. Ending scratched and bitten to death by rats was not really an enjoyable end…

"J'Ghasta?" asked Lucien.

"Yeah?"

"I think I have an idea… Could you just make sure you will be able to catch us two if we fall?"

"What do you have in mind?" asked the Khajiit, clearly worried.

"I'd better not tell you, because you are not going to approve…"

And without waiting for a reply, Lucien grabbed Martin's hand, murmured an incantation and an electric wave ran along their bodies.

There were both a good and a bad thing about electricity. The good thing was the different effects it could have on the body according to its level of intensity, and the bad one was its conductivity.

Over the years Lucien had become quite an expert on the subject and he had noticed how his victims' muscles could be paralysed by an electric spell, just before he gave them the lethal blow… And even if he did not have enough knowledge in destructive magic to kill a person with an electric hex, he was gifted enough to kill small animals, which was exactly what he wanted to do in the present case.

But, of course, he also had to take into account the bad aspect of electricity. Indeed, if he wanted to get ride of all those rats, the electric current had to pass via Martin's body as well as _his_ body. And this would not go without bad effects…

As soon as he cast his spell, Lucien felt all his muscles getting tetanized, and given Martin's stunned expression, he was experiencing the same. For a little while, the assassin had trouble breathing, and he felt his heart misfiring… As for the rats, a smell of burnt hair rose in the air, and they all fall at once, killed by the electric shock.

Then, after a few seconds, Lucien felt his muscles relaxing gently and his fingers slowly letting go both the rungs and Martin's wrist. His eyes widened in horror as he started to fall toward the grey and swarming mass of rats…

But as Lucien's hand completely let the rung go, something passed by his cheek very quickly and grabbed Martin's hand while he felt being grabbed by the collar of his shirt.

"Gottcha!" J'Ghasta exclaimed happily. "Are you guys all right?"

Still feeling dizzy, Lucien looked upward and blinked. J'Ghasta was standing up perpendicular to the wall as if he was hold in the back by some kind of invisible rope.

"How…how can you do that?" asked Lucien, bemused.

The Khajiit rolled his eyes and smile.

"You took me a bit by surprise, so I had to… improvise with my awesome levitating powers... All right, I just rolled my tail around one of the rungs." he added quickly as Lucien was looking at him blankly. "But it kind of hurts, you know, so if you could help me to drag Septim upwards…"

"Oh. Oh yes… Sure!"

Lucien gripped back on of the rungs and helped J'Ghasta hauling Martin up. He seems all right, apart from the fact he was squinting and blinking a lot.

"So, quite invigorating, hey Prince Charming?" asked Lucien.

"Yes, yes, it is…" asked Martin, passing a hand over his face and looking a bit lost.

"Good!" replied the Speaker, patting him on the shoulder before he reported his attention on the rats. The flood of rodents was continuing filling past the galleries. The animals were running right in front of them, as if their lives depended on it.

"_And this perfectly could be the case…"_ Lucien thought as his stomach started to make knots.

"By Talos…!" murmured Baurus. "I have never seen that! What's wrong with them…?"

"You know, that reminds me of something…" said Ontus Vanin with a faraway look in the eyes. "When I was in Vaarfendell, I have seen something similar. But with guars. And the locals explained me that animals have a sixth sense and have the ability to 'feel' a catastrophe coming…"

At the words, all eyes turned toward J'Ghasta.

"Hey, don't look at me like that!" the Khajiit protested. "I did not feel anything coming!"

"And… According to you, what kind of catastrophe have the rats felt?" Martin asked Vanin cautiously. The latter shrugged.

"I have no clue. If you want an answer, you'd better ask them…"

The group kept silent and continued to watch at the flow of panicked rats running away. After what seemed to be an eternity, the number of rats diminished before there were not rats left at all.

"I think we can get down, now…" said J'Ghasta, listening intently to make sure there was not another huge flood of crazy rats coming. Everyone started to get down the ladder carefully, but suddenly, Martin stopped and looked at Lucien who was getting down right by his side.

"You saved my life, you know…"

Lucien made a mock dubitative pout.

"Oh really? Well, maybe I did, yes..."

"And you think you will be able to live with that?"

There was a pause. Then, Lucien shot Martin a huge smile, and, without a warning, he made Martin's fingers came off the rungs while pushing him backwards. The heir of the Imperial Throne battered his air with his arms, trying to get his balance back, before he fell heavily on his back into the repulsing mud of the latrines.

"Yes, I think I will be able to live with it now…" Lucien replied happily as he got down the ladder, ignoring Martin's insults and swearing as he was trying to extract himself form the mired liquid.

"Lucien, seriously…" said J'Ghasta, trying not to laugh.

"Right, the show is over." Ontus Vanin said. "And we'd better hurry. We have lost a lot of precious time, and I am afraid my… 'contact' that is waiting for us in the city may get impatient. And he can get really scathing - even biting - when he is annoyed..."

"And you still refuse to tell us who it is?" asked Baurus. "And how you managed to contact him?"

The mage had small little smile.

"This is a surprise. You will see…"

7777777777777777777

On the parapet that was longing the Imperial City walls around Talos plaza, the atmosphere was very dull.

"That's too bad we are on guard today." said a legionnaire, leaning heavily on his spear and looking with envy at the crowd who was partying.

"Yeah, to bad we are on shift today…" continued a second soldier who was yawning without making any efforts to hide his boredness.

"Watch your mouth, soldiers!" said the sergeant angrily. "You should be proud to have been chosen to protect your country on this particular day…"

"Well, I don't know if I am proud, but what is sure is that I am damn bored…" retorted the legionnaire. "What do you think, captain?"

"Hmmm…" replied the captain, scratching his chin and not sounding concerned at all.

He sighed and looked at his men. They were all in a terrible mood today. Of course, taking part to the festivities would have been better than standing on faction there, but...

To be honest, the captain far preferred being on guard here than at the Palace and this was something he could really not explain to his soldier. Actually, the very thought of the Palace made him shivered. After all his rather unfortunate adventures over there, he had begged his superior to be transferred to another part of the Imperial city. It was not a usual request, but they finally accepted, the mental sanity of the captain being at stake. So, to sum it up, being on duty here today almost had the taste of paradise for the officer…

"Ah, I would kill for a bit of action!" said legionnaire number one taking the captain out of his daydreaming

"You should not say that," started the sergeant, "because as a soldier, action may actually kill you…"

There was a wave of unenthusiastic laughs. Nobody liked the sergeant much. He was a complete dork, but his mother's sister was the cousin of Chancellor Ocato's hairdresser so, no need to say that this guy had a long arm…

"Hey, have you seen all those rats?" said legionnaire number two, pointing at something over the rampart.

"Rats? Where?" asked the captain, frowning and bending over the ramparts to take a better view.

"Look at that! There are _hundreds_ of them…"

The captain frowned even more and looked at a long and brown moving column which was starting at the basis of the ramparts and was going toward the lake. The soldier was right. Those were definitely rats and they were quite a lot of them…

"Do you know where they are going, captain?"

"No, I don't know and to be honest, I absolutely don't care." said the officer as he readjusted on of the straps of his armour. "We are not paid to look after rats… There are more serious problems that require our full attention."

His gaze moved from the rats to several small columns of smoke that were rising above the forest. Septim's army – or at least the man who pretended to be a Septim – was camping over there, which had been the reason why all the gates had been closed. The Captain did not know if this Martin was the real heir of the Imperial Throne, and actually, this was not his business at all. This was "Politics" and any good soldier knew that "mixing-into-Politics-was-a-bad-idea".

The captain was about when someone gave a small cough behind him. The officer turned around to face a little chubby man. Or at least, what looked like it, because his interlocutor was covered in a brown and very odorant mud and his face was covered in dark paintings which prevented the captain to identify him formally.

"Civilians are not allowed to access that part of the parapet!" exclaimed the captain. "So if you don't want to spend the rest of the night in a cell – or worst – you'd better get back from where you come from!"

The muddy silhouette narrowed his eyes and his face brightened brusquely.

"But… Aren't you my lovely legionnaire friend from the Palace?" asked the fat man, sounding truly delighted.

"_You_?!" exclaimed the Captain as he recognised Ontus Vanin.

A wave of panic threatened to overcome him, and his hand mechanically patted on of his pocket. He swore under his breath when he realised he had forgotten to take the pills the healer had given him to treat his manhandled nerves…

"Are you deaf, man?!" shout the sergeant who had popped up by the captain's side while the two other legionnaires were taking their sword out. "Get out of here or you are going to be in serious trouble."

"No, my young and impetuous friend, I am not deaf, but my companions and I walked a long way to ask you a small service…"

"Companions? _Service_?" asked the sergeant, bemused.

And before he could finish his sentence, four figures materialised out of thin air by Vanin's side. The soldier managed to identify the new comers as two Imperials, one Redguard and a Khajiit, but as they were all covered in mud as well, the sergeant would not have been surprised if they had turned to be foul-smelling golems…

"Gentlemen, let me introduce you my companions: a Blade, two assassins, and last but not least, the 'mysterious man'."

There was a puzzled silence.

"What… what the Oblivion are you talking about, man?" asked the captain. He wanted to look like as if he had the situation in hands, but he could feel like his mental sanity was on the edge of completely vanishing away. Darn, if only he had his pills…

"Well, we simply would like you to open this gate so we could let the rest of Septim's army getting in." Lucien explained helpfully as J'Ghasta, Baurus and he took a few steps forward, their weapons in hand.

"Oh, by the Nine, that smell is terrible!" exclaimed a guard, pinching his nose and making a disgusted face.

"Oh, you get used to it, after a while." replied Lucien casually. "But now, if you really don't want to get perfumed with a sample of 'Eau de Latrines', I strongly advise you to open that gate…"

"Guaaaaaaards!" yelled the captain. He and his men were outnumbered only by one of those maniacs, but he did not want to take any risk and he smiled brightly as he pictured his opponents' face when they will realise they would have to fight twenty well armed and trained men...

"Hmm, your friends are a bit slow to come to the rescue, aren't they?" asked Baurus after a while, and something in the Redguard's voice made the captain's smile faded a bit.

"Yeah, they must be still busy..." said J'Ghasta nastily.

"Busy doing what?" asked one of the guard.

"Oh, a few of your colleagues are probably trying to untie themselves." said J'Ghasta, smiling. "The rest is still unconscious. Oh, and unfortunately, two of them ran inadvertently right on our blades… Four times in a row."

"You dared to attack and kill soldiers of the Legion!?" barked the sergeant. The Khajiit's smile grew wilder.

"I do apologise for the death of two of your men." said the only of the five intruders who had not spoken yet. "I am afraid my… friends got a bit overenthusiastic…" he added making a face at the Khajiit and the other Imperial, who beamed in return. "Now please, open the gate, officer, and everything will be fine."

"Says who?" asked the constable ironically, his voice dripping with despise.

"Says Martin Septim, the legitimate heir of the Throne of Tamriel, your Emperor and, incidentally, the supreme commander of the Legion..."

At the words, all soldiers froze, and their eyes slowly moved from Martin's face to the Amulet around his neck. It seems it was the only part of his person which was not covered in that fetid mud. The Amulet was shining with force on his chest.

"It could be a fake…" started one soldier, voicing his companions' opinion. But his voice did not sounded steady at all.

"Yes, it could be a fake." Martin replied very calmly. "But there is a very simple way of finding out if it is the case." He then removed the Amulet from around his neck and handed it to the guard. "Try it. If it is a fake, you should be able to wear it. Well, if it is not…"

The guard took a step backward, his eyes fixing fearfully the Amulet, and Martin had to make great effort not to smile.

Superstition was, in some case, a good thing. Everybody knew that only a descendant of the Septims could wear the Amulet of Kings. For those who did not belong to the royal family and wanted to try the Amulet on, it simply slipped out of their hands. But folklore had also added a few interesting superstitions, such like turning mad as soon as you touched it or loosing all your teeth. There was even on story which said that you would be doomed to have haemorrhoids for the rest of your life if you simply looked at it…

"Er, no, thanks, but I'd rather not try it…" said the soldier, gulping.

"Please, try it on!" Martin insisted. "That will once and for all clarify the situation."

"Enough of this!" yelled the captain, who seemed to have recovered his steadiness and was now pointing his sword at Martin. "Whoever you are, you are going to follow us to see His Lordship Chancellor Ocato! And that damn gate will remain close!"

"And how are you going to achieve that? You are outnumbered!" Vanin said. "There are seven of us against you four…"

The captain and his men laughed.

"I don't know what they taught you at the Arcane University, but apparently, algebra was not part of the courses…"

Ontus Vanin raised an eyebrow and pointed at something in the legionnaires' back.

"You'd better take a look behind you, dude…"

"That would be indeed a good idea, my young friend." said a very, _very_ familiar voice.

The captain's face became very white and his eyes widened in horror. Slowly, he turned back to face a hooded figure dressed in a very richly decorated robes. At his feet was standing a little fluffy and white dog which was slobbering abundantly on the cobblestones while jumping around excitedly.

"Oh no…" said the Captain in a weak voice. "No…"

"You are late, Master Vanin…" said Count Janus Hassildor in a very cold voice. "The baths you asked me to get prepared – and given the subtle fragrance that is emanating from you, I have to admit I understand why – are going to get cold…"

"Yes, we are sorry my Lord." Vanin said, bowing at the Count. "But we had trouble to find our way out." he added while shooting Lucien a very dark look.

"And what the Oblivion do you have on your face, man?!"

"Camouflage!" boomed Ontus Vanin.

"Ah, right…" The Count shrugged and turn toward the captain. "As you already know, I am a very busy man, patience is not my strongest virtue and Furball_ still_ need a dog sitter… So, for the last time, open the gate."

Furball, who had heard his name, was now slobbering twice more and making puppy eyes at an almost fainting captain.

"The Legion dies but never surrenders! Yaaaaaaaaah!" screamed the sergeant, raising his sword toward the sky. His companions exchanged worried looks before starting to cheer with him, but not really enthusiastically…

"All right! All right!" the captain yelled. And everybody froze. "No one is going to die, and everybody is going to surrender!"

The officer was very pale. He had a mad look in his eyes, was shaking as well as foaming at bit at the mouth.

"But, sir…!" the Constable protested. But he could not finish his sentence because the captain grabbed him by the front of his armour and started to shake him violently.

"You see that dog there?!" shrieked the Captain, completely losing his nerves this time and pointing hysterically at Furball who was merrily shaking his tail. "Believe me or not, it is worst than any of the punishments we could get from the Council or Chancellor Ocato! So now, _open that bloody gate_!"

777777777777777777

Sigrid blinked. It was sunset, and the light was not very strong, but after having passed a few days in her dark cell, her eyes had trouble to get used to any kind of luminosity, even the weakest one…

She was standing up on a platform which had been set up right in the middle of Talos plaza surrounded by a dozen of heavily armed guards. Vicente was standing by her side. He was able to stand up alone, but his face was wearing the marks of the ordeal he had gone through. Nevertheless, his glance was not dull anymore, and it seemed to Sigrid that his familiar little red spark was slowly coming back to his eyes…

The girl transferred her attention on the people packed around the platform. The crowd was surprisingly very calm. No screams, no cheers… People just looked like they were waiting for the show to begin, listening patiently at the herald as he was enumerating in a monochord voice all the charges that were hold against her and Vicente.

Sigrid sighed and looked at the tribunes on which had been installed the officials and her eyes scanned the ranks of the nobles who were sitting there.

Many of them were mages, and Sigrid recognised without much difficulty Archmage Hannibal Traven, who had dressed for the occasion with all the necessary pomp. And he was smiling. At the sight, pure hatred and loath rose in Sigrid's chest. Traven had been one of the main authors of her demise, and even she had no mean to make him pay for that, she hoped that he soon would be smiling on the other side of his face.

Sigrid continued examining the high ranked guests, and inevitably, her eyes fall on the Montforts. The siblings were sitting side by side, and when Sigrid's eyes met Mahaut's, the latter had a cruel smile and made a small move with her hand toward her throat, as if she was slicing it… As for Foulques, his face remained neutral, but his look said he was really sorry he would not have the opportunity to have another special… 'private conversation' with her. Sigrid tried to glare back at him, but finally quickly moved her eyes away from him, shivering in disgust.

The others faces were not familiar to her, but she realised that Countess Nirana Carvain of Bruma was not there, which did not surprise her much. But she could not see anywhere the hooded figure of Count Janus Hassildor either…

Finally, Sigrid identified Chancellor Ocato, who was sitting in the very first row, looking as hieratic as an Ayleid statute. Or so it seemed, because Sigrid was ready to swear that Ocato had just winked at her…

"…That is why the Council of the Elders," continued the Herald, "in its great wisdom, has decided to condemn Sigrid Gisela Rivanone Trencavel and Vicente Audoin Mauront Valtieri to the death penalty."

The sentence was received by a murmur from the crowd, but it was hard to determine whether it was a murmur of approval or not. Then, the relative silence was broke by screams of "Liars!", "Swines!", "Death to the government!t" and other insults which raised from somewhere in the mass of people.

All heads turned toward the source of the yells, which consisted in a young Bosmer with a very weird hair-cut and a lady so old she looked like she was going to crumble into dust. The boy was wearing a placard which said "On hunger strike – Freedom for the Grand Champion" while the old lady was shaking vigorously a cane with which she threatened to knock off her neighbours.

"Your fan club?" whispered Vicente with a smile.

Sigrid rolled her eyes.

"The Bosmer used to follow me everywhere after I became Grand Champion of the Arena, and I still don't know how I have managed to shake off him… As for the old lady, I have never seen her before."

Sigrid interrupted herself when she realised the herald was walking toward them.

"Do you have a last thing to say?" he asked

Sigrid raised an eyebrow. This was something she had not been expecting at all…

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, it is the tradition that those condemn to death make some kind of official declaration before their execution. Like an epitaph, if you prefer…" the herald explained patiently." So, what are your last words?"

"But I don't know!" exclaimed Sigrid. "Do you really think it has been my main concern lately?!"

"Hmmm, it is the New Year Eve's tonight, so, what about 'Happy New Year?'" ventured Vicente with a huge smile.

Sigrid rolled her eyes.

"Well, excuse me…?" asked one of the guards very politely. He blushed a bit when all glances riveted onto him. "I am quite well-versed in Imperialin, you see, and as you are a renowned artist, I think something like 'Qualis artifex pereo' could be great…"

There was a pause and the soldier blushed even more.

"'Qualis artifex pereo'… 'What a loss I shall be to the arts…'!" murmured Sigrid to herself. "This sounds very snobbish and arrogant, but as I have no other ideas…" She then shrugged. "Right. Let's go for it."

The soldier beamed at her.

"And I will stick to 'Happy New Year', thank you." said Vicente as the herald turned toward him, raising an interrogative eyebrow.

"Good." the herald said, taking notes on a bit of paper he then put in one in his pocked. "And now, I am afraid it is time to go… Ladies first, Lady Trencavel." he added, pointing at the executioner who was standing behind a huge block.

Sigrid took a deep breath and turned toward Vicente. She was unable to say anything, so all she could do was shooting him a small smile. The vampire smiled back and nodded. Biting her lower lip and trying not to cry, Sigrid turned her back to him and walked toward the executioner, who was carrying a very big axe.

"_So, what is going to happen to you now?"_ asked Sigrid mentally to the Voice.

"_Well, I think that Sithis is already waiting for me…So I guess I am going to mix in the Void. Forever. But at least, the Ankou won't have me back…"_

"_I am sorry." _said Sigrid._ "And it really kills me to tell you that but… I mean, sometimes, you were a pain in the ass, but most of the time, I had to admit I was happy to have you with me…"_

"_Getting all emo, aren't you?" _asked the Voice, chuckling. "_More seriously, you were a rather interesting person to live as a parasite on and I am sorry too that I have dragged you into that mess…And I am sure Martin Septim loves you."_

Sigrid replied nothing because she could not find anything to say. She had tried not to think about Martin the last few days. The feeling of betrayal was far too painful… She took several deep breaths and tried to regain her serenity. But the vision of the executioner and the block brought to her mind a funny memory.

As a kid, a boy who wanted to impress her had told her that someone who had just been beheaded was still able to perceive the world around him a few second after his head had been detached from his body…

Sigrid wondered if her head would still be able to see the person around her or smell the nice fragrance of roasted meat before dying completely. Maybe she would be able to stick out her tongue to the Montforts? That would be awesome…

So, it is half-smiling that she walked toward her death. She was still smiling when she kneeled down, and was about to put her head on the block when something passer above her head, whirling.

The executioner's axe dropped on the floor as he tried to recover his balance and looked surprised at the feathering of an arrow which was getting out of his chest. He then blinked a few times and finally collapsed heavily on the ground.

There was a silence, quickly broken by a scream which burst forth from the crowd, followed then by many others. All the people massed in front of the platform were trying to take a better look at what happened. As for the guards, they had created a wall around Sigrid and Valtieri, and were now trying to see from where the arrow came from.

Surprise and panic had also stricken the ranks of the nobles, who were now leaving the tribunes to find a less exposed place. Archmage Traven was yelling orders, trying to bring Only Chancellor Ocato remained very calm, his dark brown eyes observing the crowd as if he was waiting for something…

"Who dared?!" yelled Hannibal Traven, almost strangling himself with rage. "Who _dared_ to do this!?"

"I did!" replied forcefully a voice from the crowd, covering the general hubbub.

Slowly, silence fall on Talos plaza again, and the crowd opened to give way to a group of men and people starting to whispered as they recognised them. Martin Septim, wearing the Imperial robes, was leading the group, followed by Jauffre, the Grandmaster of the Blades, Janus Hassildor, Count of Skingrad, and Master Ontus Vanin. Behind them were coming other persons nobody was able to recognised. But to tell the truth, it was not their face the crowd was watching but the impressive weaponry they were carrying with them…

"Who are you?" Traven demanded.

"Can't you guess, Archmage?" replied Martin curtly. "I guess the Imperial robes and the Amulet of Kings are not clues obvious enough for your phenomenal intellect to found out who I am…?"

Some people in the crowd chuckled and Traven's face became very red.

"Hey, you have quite the nerves to show your face here… Bastard!" said a mocking voice.

Martin clenched his fist and looked in the direction from which the voice was coming. A young and awesome man was walking toward him, sneering.

"Foulques Montfort, I presume…?" asked Martin, his voice full of suppressed rage.

"I am very flattered you already have heard of me, Bastard." replied Foulques in a sickenly sweet voice. "And let me praise you for your courage. Showing up here with a bunch of guards to save your assassin and necromantic whore is highly commendable. Worthy of a true Emperor, really!"

Baurus drew his katana out but Martin stopped him with a gesture from his hand.

"No, Baurus, no…" he said softly. He then turned his attention back on Montfort again. "I have not walked all the way down to Bruma to get insulted by the Archmage's lapdog." Martin retained a smile when he heard Traven roaring in rage and saw Foulques gritting his teeth. "Where is His Lordship Chancellor Ocato?"

While he was talking, he noticed that guards had started to surround his group.

"And I don't know who is commanding the guards here, but I strongly advise you not to try to attack us, if you don't want all to die here and now…"

At the words, voices rose from the crowd again and some people started pointing at silhouettes on the ramparts that were surrounding Talos plaza. There were quite a lot of them who had taken position all along the parapet, ready to strike with their bows… A murmur of incredulity ran along the crowd.

"Are you threatening the Council?!" shrieked Traven. Around him had gathered some members of the Council of Elders, and they were all yelling insults at Martin. The rest of the Council was standing a few steps backwards, apparently hesitating on the conduct to adopt.

"I am not threatening anyone, Archmage. My army controls now the city, so all I am doing is asking you whether you want to solve our different in blood or if you prefer a more pacific solution…"

He made a pause, and nobody dared to talk.

"So, again, where is Lord Ocato?"

"I am here, Martin."

The High Elf had finally left his seat on the tribune and was calmly walking toward Martin, his face as neutral as ever. Once in front of him, he stopped and sized the man up at a glance. Then his face broke into a huge smile.

"You really look like your father at the same age, you know…" Ocato whispered, patting Martin on the shoulder.

"I am glad we finally managed to meet, Lord Chancellor." said Martin, smiling back. "You know why I am here…"

The Chancellor's smile grew wider and he shot a glance behind him, where, on the platform, Sigrid was still standing with Vicente.

"I have an idea of what motivates your presence here, Martin." replied Ocato. "And I honestly have no opposition at all to your claim to the throne, as long as you can prove us you are a Septim…"

"What?!" yelled Foulques, quickly followed by some members of the Council. "You want this impostor to become Emperor?"

"This little joke is over now, Master Montfort." said Ocato dryly. "All the Council perfectly know Septim is the heir of the Throne, and now that he is here, there is no necessity to gain time or try to blackmail him odiously!"

"You knew!" shrieked Traven, pointing hysterically at Ocato. "You knew! You let him get in!" The Archmage then tuned toward the Count Janus Hassildor, who was still standing behind Martin. "And that traitor helped you!"

The murmurs in crowd grew stronger. Words as "blackmail", "manipulation", "true heir" and "Amulet of the Kings" rose in the air. Foulques Montfort gritted his teeth and hissed in rage, perfectly knowing he had lost the battle. The people were now with Martin, he could feel it, and the Council would not dare risking a revolt by annoying them…

"And of course, we need the Dragonfires to be relighted to put an end to the invasion of Merhunes Dagon." continued the Chancellor, ignoring Traven. "If you managed to do this, Martin, this will prove, once and for all, that Martin Septim is our new Emperor."

A rumour of excitement ran along the crowd and some people started to run toward the Temple of the One to make sure to be the first there and have a good view.

"I will relight the Dragonfires, Chancellor. But there will be one condition to this…"

"Trencavel and Valtieri are free." said the Chancellor, and he made a move with his hands to intimate the guards to free the prisoners.

"No, no you can't do that!" yelled Mahaut Montfort. "You can't!"

But no one listened to her. Martin nodded to the Chancellor and slowly walked up on the platform while Ocato was moving toward the most annoyed members of the Council, soon joined by Janus Hassildor and Jauffre.

The guards moved away from Martin's path and Septim finally found himself face to face with Trencavel. The girl's face was perfectly neutral.

"Sigrid…" whispered Martin.

She narrowed her eyes and started walking toward him. She then stopped right in front of him, raised a hand, and Martin closed his eyes, anticipating a huge slap that never came. Instead, Sigrid threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, leaving Martin absolutely bewildered.

"You really had to put those awful robes on, didn't you?" she murmured.

"Well, yes. It makes things look more… official." replied Martin, patting her on the back. "Er, tell me… You aren't crying, are you?"

If she was, that would have disturbed Martin a lot.

"Well, no, I am not… And what is that smell?"

Martin sighed.

"It is a long story…" he started, whishing he had actually the time to take a sixth bath. By Akatosh, would the smell ever go?

777777777777777777

On one of the roofs overhanging Talos plaza, J'Ghasta was doing his best to comfort his Speaker.

"Ah, for Sithis' sake, it was a nice shot, Lucien! So stop _pouting_!"

But, his arms angrily crossed on his chest, Lucien was still very annoyed.

"I was aiming for _in between his eyes_." the Speaker grumbled. "But instead, I got him in the chest… Stupid wind! Could you explain me why it became windy all of a sudden?!"

J'Ghasta rolled his eyes. Indeed, the weather had suddenly changed, and the sky was slowly getting cloudy. Very cloudy. This would have not mattered much to J'Ghasta if those clouds were not red ones, full of lightings… The Khajiit shrugged. After all he was not an expert in meteorology, so he reported his attention to the scene. The assassins from the Dark Brotherhood had managed to mix quickly in the crowd, ready to shoot the members of the Council if something was going wrong as well as protect Sigrid and Vicente. J'Ghasta's eyes narrowed when his glance came upon the vampire.

"By Sithis, Vicente doesn't look in great form…" he observed darkly as he watched at the platform.

"Indeed." Finally, Lucien had renounced to pout and was standing at his friend's side. "And someone is going to pay for thi… _What the hell is Septim doing to Trencavel?_"

"He is kissing her, I think… Or maybe she is kissing him…? Awww, look at them…" said J'Ghasta, his eyes gleaming as the crowd started cheering at the show. "Aren't they cute? Hey, do you think this may be qualified as 'roman… _What_?" he barked as Lucien pulled on his sleeve.

The assassin replied nothing. His eyes still riveted on something in the crowd, he pointed his finger on one silhouette and J'Ghasta's jaw dropped when he realised whom Lucien was pointing at…

"Shaleez…" the Khajiit hissed.

"Well, at least we know where she is now…" Lucien said flatly.

"Of course…" growled J'Ghasta. "She is after the Umbra…"

Lucien blinked.

"What? What are you talking about?"

J'Ghasta gave a big sigh.

"Do you remember that night at the Montfort's manor, when we tried to steal the sword?"

"Oh yes I do…" Lucien replied dryly.

"So you also remember that I told you everything could have been fine if someone had not alerted the guards?"

"Yes…"

"Well, I saw who it was, and even if I did not recognise that person immediately, I knew that this silhouette was familiar to me, and now I am sure it was Shaleez…"

There was a pause.

"But… why?" Lucien asked after a while.

"I am not sure yet, but I am pretty sure it has to do with Trencavel and the Ankou..." said the Khajiit very darkly.

"Well…" started Lucien. But J'Ghasta never heard the end of his sentence because the Speaker's voice was covered by a terrible racket. Lightning had started to fall from the red clouds all over the city, creating a wave of panic in the crowd. The cobblestones were exploding where they were hit by an electric shock, and Lucien saw some people falling dead on the ground, their bodies crippled with stone fragments.

The two assassins were looking at the scene, unable to move.

"Was it part of your plan?" Lucien finally managed to ask.

"Nope" replied J'Ghasta with eyes like saucers.

"I thought so… We are in trouble, aren't we?"

"Yep."

Around them, in a terrible noise, Oblivion gates started to rose from the ground, and, in a terrible lightning, Merhunes Dagon, the Daedric Prince of Destruction, materialised in the Imperial City.


	23. The Final Battle

**Chapter 23**

**Voilà ! XD**

**Chapters 23 and 24. It took me more time than initially planned – a lot of unplanned things happened to me lately. cough  
**

**And please don't yell at me because of chapter 24… ****The story is not finished, there is still chapter 25. I still need to work a bit on it (like adding a few words at the end to thank everyone at then end ;P), but I think I should be able to publish it tomorrow… :)  
**

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A long scream rose from the Imperial city, coming out of thousand of terrified throats at the same time and echoing the Prince of Chaos and Destruction's powerful roar of both defiance and pure pleasure.

Still standing still on one of the roof Talos Plaza, Lucien and J' Ghasta were looking, mesmerised, at the Daedric Lord's gigantic silhouette which was outlined by the light of the flames of the blazes lit by Dagon's horde in the Temples' district. Merhunes Dagon was at least thirty feet high, and his four terrible arms were destroying buildings and probably – but the two assassins were too far away to tell – decimating the people who were standing at his feet.

"No, it can't be…" whispered Lucien, who was doing his best from refraining himself from pinching himself to make sure he was not dreaming… or rather, having a nightmare. "Please tell me it is an illusion…"

"I am afraid it is not…" growled J'Ghasta. "Gosh, wait until the Night Mother finds out. She is going to give us a real dressing-down…"

"I don't think our Unholy Matron will have the occasion to, if there is no way to stop Dagon…" said Lucien, his eyes riveted on the impressive mass of Merhunes Dagon. He gulped. He did not like to admit it, but he was scared to death. "What are we going to do now?" he asked J'Ghasta, who was mechanically biting his lower lips.

The Khajiit remained undecided for a while, apparently as lost as Lucien was. Then, his features suddenly hardened and he clenched his fists a few times.

"There is nothing we can do against Dagon now." J'Ghasta finally answered between gritted teeth. "It is Septim's business, and I have already ordered the rest of the Dark Brotherhood assassin's present here to make sure nothing bad happens to him until the Oblivion crisis is over…I can't do much more."

"So, what about us?" Lucien asked angrily. "Are we going to sit there and enjoy the show?"

J'Ghasta rolled his eyes.

"Of course not… Remember, we have two problems to deal with: Dagon and the Ankou." The Khajiit's chops curled up in a nasty smile. "And if there is nothing we can do for the first one, at least we can try to solve the second thanks to our dear _Shaleez_…" He paused and his eyes narrowed. "We must find her because I am pretty sure she is going to lead us to Umbra and to the Ankou."

Lucien raised an eyebrow looked at the mass of panicked people who were trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the Oblivion gates that had just opened. Of course, Shaleez had disappeared…

"And how do think we are going to find her into that mess?" he asked.

J'Ghasta grinned widely.

"You see," he said, tapping the side of his noise with his forefinger, "Khajiits have this amazing thing called '_sense of smell_'…"

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Still in Martin's arms, Sigrid was looking at the terrifying silhouette of Merhunes Dagon with eyes like saucers. The Daedric Lord roared and the girl felt a shiver of pure terror running along her spine.

Jauffre and his Blades had were already running toward the door which linked the Talos district to the Temple one to prevent the Daedra to invade the place, quickly followed by the mages who had jumped from the tribunes, their staffs in hand. Archmage Traven was leading them, yelling orders, and Sigrid saw Foulques and Mahaut following the rest of their comrades, but not before shooting her a very threatening glance…

"_To think I believed everything was over…"_ the Voice sighed. _"This time, it really, _really_ sucks…"_

"_How did Dagon__ managed to enter the real of Nirn?!"_ Sigrid shrieked mentally. _"I thought Daedric Lords needed to be invoked to penetrate our world…"_

Sigrid bit her lower lips when she realised what she had just said something very stupid…

"_Does__ the name 'The Mythic Dawn' ring a bell?"_ asked the Voice sarcastically_. "You know, the bunch of maniacs lead by Mankar Camoran which wants to make Dagon the master of Nirn?"_

"_But Camoran i__s dead! How have they managed performing such a thing as invoking a Daedric Prince?!"_

The Voice had a huge mental grin.

"_Amazing the stuffs one can do when one is really pissed off__, hey?"_

Some yells around her took her out of her mental conversation with the Voice. She blinked and realised that people standing next to her were arguing while the crow was yelling and running around

"See?! See what you have done, you bunch of morons!" Ontus Vanin was shouting, pointing at Dagon while threatening some members of the Council with his staff. "You have allowed this to happen by making us loosing precious time with all your stupid political ploys!"

"Are you accusing us of being responsible for this fiasco?" protested a small, white bearded man whose face was covered in so many wrinkles he reminded Ontus Vanin of an apple that would have been forgotten into a cupboard.

"Yes, this is exactly what I am doi…!"

"My poor, poor Vanin!" interjected another member of the Council. "Your poor mind has never been able to grasp the beauty and subtlety of politics and…"

There was a flash of light and the wanna be Ma'Kiavelli inelegantly flew in the air before landing in a fountain ten meters away.

"So, anyone else who feels like explaining me how politics works?" growled Vanin, his magic staff still smoking. Everybody remained carefully still.

"That is enough, Master Vanin!" said Count Janus Hassildor, raising his hands in an appeasing way. "There are more urgent matters. We absolutely must evacuate the city now if we want to avoid to many life losses…"

But to the Count's greatest surprise, many members of the Council were looking at him blankly.

"Excuse me, Lord Hassildor, but what are you trying to tell us exactly?" asked one of them.

The Count's eyelids flickered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes. Why to you want us to flee the city, Janus?" asked the old bearded man, sounding surprised. "Now he is here and had proven to be the true heir of the throne, Martin Septim is going to save us! All he needs to do is to relight the Dragonfires!"

Janus Hassildor opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a furious Ontus Vanin.

"I really can't understand you, guys! First, you do your best to put a spoke in Septim's wheels and now, you acclaim him as your saviour!" the fat mage exclaimed, looking so annoyed the old man fearfully took a few steps back. "And can't you see it is too late? The Dragonfires protected us from the Daedras in Oblivion to _invade_ our plan, but they are completely useless once they are _already in_!"

There was an appalled silence.

"Is it true, Chancellor?" asked one of the councillors.

"I am afraid it is…" Ocato said resignedly.

The old bearded man shook his head and turned toward Martin.

"But… You are the Dragonborn…" he said. "You must save us! It is your duty!"

Sighing, Martin gently realised Sigrid from his arms and looked sadly at the councillor.

"I wished I could help you, my old friend… But Master Vanin and the Chancellor are right: only the Dragonfires could protect us from the hordes of the Oblivion.

"No, it can't be…" replied the old councillor, and his voice was trembling in despair. "The Gods swore to your ancestors that as long as a descendent of their common lineage would wear the Amulet they offered them, Akatosh, the dragon God of time himself, would protect us!"

"I doubt that Akatosh could do anything for us now…" said Ocato kindly as he patted the old man on the shoulder. The latter was now crying openly. He collapsed at Martin's feet, and grabbing the bottom of Martin's robes, he buried his face in them.

"I implore you to help us, Dragonborn!" said the old councillor, weeping. "Only you can save Nirn now!"

"No, please sir, don't do that…" said a very embarrassed Martin, while was trying to put the man back on his feet. But the latter remained stubbornly hung to his robes.

"The same blood runs into the Septims' veins and the Gods'!" cried the old man. "If they abandon you, it would be like abandoning one of their kinds!"

Martin did not know what to reply to comfort the desperate old man, so he turned toward Sigrid hoping that she would be able to help him. But as for the old man, she was looking at him as if he was their only hope…

_The Gods… The __Septims…The common bloodline_… The words were now dancing in Martin's head and he felt like he was missing something… Something very important. Slightly puzzled, he mechanically took the Amulet of Kings in his hand and looked at it closely.

He remembered the stories he has heard about it. The legends said the Gods gave it to the founder of the Empire, the Slave Queen Alessia, as a proof of the Gods' commitment the heirs of Dragon Throne to help them against any menace coming from Oblivion. Thus, the Amulet was the symbol of the pact signed between the mortals of Nirn and the inhabitants of Aetherius. As if it was reading his thoughts, the red jewel of the amulet – as red as _blood_ – started to gleam…

"_The Dragonborn…"_ thought Martin, the light of the Amulet reflecting into his eyes. _"I am the Dragonborn…"_

And then, everything became very clear.

"No." whispered Martin. "It is not too late."

He put the Amulet back around his neck and put the old councillor back on his feet firmly, ignoring the surprised glance of Ocato and Hassildor.

"Fear not, old friend." Martin said in a firm and solemn voice. "For the Dragonborn will never abandon his people."

Ocato and Hassildor exchanges a surprise look and, turning toward Martin, the Chancellor gave a small cough.

"Excuse me, my Lord, but can I ask you what you have in mind?"

"I need to go to the Temple of the One." said Martin firmly. "And quick."

"But why do you to go the Temple? You can't relight the Dragonfires!" shouted Ontus Vanin. "And Merhunes Dagon is standing right in front of its gates!"

"This is where everything started. This is where everything shall end." whispered Martin, who turned toward Sigrid. "Lady Trencavel, will you help me one more time?"

Sigrid gave him a luminous and confident smile, and Martin's heart sank when he realised she would be the one who would suffer the most from the consequences of his decision…

"Right, I am in too!" exclaimed Vanin.

"So am I." said Lord Hassildor softly, and Furball, who was sitting at his feet, barked in approval.

"And I guess I can't leave you people alone without having to face a catastrophe afterwards…" said Vicente, ignoring both Sigrid and Hassildor who rolled their eyes.

"Well, we'd better do that quickly then…" said Ocato, removing his staff from his back. "Looks like we are going to have company very soon…"

Indeed, Daedras had managed to drive back the defenders of Talos Plaza and were invading the place, pushing in front of them a bunch of rather disorganised but well armed people, among whose were the very recognisable silhouettes of an Orc and an Argonian…

"Hey, wait for us! We are in too!" boomed Gogron. His armour was already covered in blood – not his, of course – and several Daedra's heads were hanging at his belt. As for Teinaava, he seemed in great form as shown by the end of his tail which was twisting excitedly.

"Gogron!" Sigrid shrieked happily.

She ran and threw her arms around the Orc's neck.

"Did you miss me?" asked Gogron, chuckling.

"Hey, what about me? Do I stink?" asked Teinaava, beaming and opening his arms as Sigrid jumped from Gogron's neck to his.

Behind them, someone cleared his throat.

"Oh sorry, Vicente! It is nice to see you again!" exclaimed Gogron. "Do you want a hug?"

The vampire winced.

"No, thank you very much… I am still recovering from my little stay in the Imperial prisons…"

"Hum, sorry to interrupt you guys," Vanin said with a little embarrassed cough, "but I am afraid we have an awful lot of things to do, like getting ride of Dagon and saving the world…"

"One more little thing before we go…" said Janus Hassildor, turning toward Vicente and handing him a heavy bag. "I think there are several things that belong to you and Lady Trencavel."

Valtieri raised an interrogative eyebrow and a huge smile appeared on his face as he retrieved his beloved Dwemer sword.

"You are like a mother to me, Janus!" Vicente exclaimed, passing the bag to Sigrid.

"Glad to see I can be useful!" replied Hassildor, bowing mockingly. "And now to the Temple of the One!"

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Hidden in some small passages bordering the buildings, Mahaut Montfort was trying to follow the little group lead by Martin Septim which was cutting its way out of the Daedra horde. The girl's face was completely deformed by rage and she was breathing deeply. She had escaped from the company of mages fighting Daedras around the Temple of the One – and was getting happily massacred – as soon as she was able to. She had not been able to find Foulques anywhere. Too bad for him… Mahaut was sure he would have enjoyed the hunt a lot…

No, there was no way Trencavel could get out of it this time… She did not mind if her little pet boyfriend became Emperor, but Mahaut swore she would do everything to make sure the throne of the Empress would remain "Trencavel free".

She was trying to find a way to get close to the group unnoticed and unhurt when she felt like she was being observed. She turned around quickly and found herself facing a strange apparition. It was apparently a girl – more precisely, a Breton girl – with blond and short hair. She was wearing a set of courtesan robes which looked really tired and dusty and in her hand was a black fan she was moving mechanically in front of her face.

"What do you want?" Mahaut asked curtly.

The young girl did not reply immediately. Instead, she continued to stare at Mahaut.

"_By the Nine, her eyes don't have iris…"_ thought Mahaut, shivering. Indeed, the eyes of the girl looked completely black, as if they had no eyeballs.

"My name is Antoinetta Marie." said the blond girl with dark eyes.

"That's absolutely fascinating…" replied Mahaut, who tried to sound sarcastic but could not hide the not of fear in her voice. "And now, if you'll excuse me…"

The mage try to go away but the creepy girl called Antoinetta grabbed her by the arm.

"The golden necklace you are wearing…" she said a monotonous voice, pointing at the mage's neck. "It does not belong to you…"

Mahaut blinked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"This necklace belonged to Vicente Valtieri." continued Antoinetta, as impassive as a statue. "And he offered it to Sigrid Trencavel…"

Then, everything happened very quickly. Mahaut's staff started to gleam and she was about to shoot a curse at Antoinetta, when to her horror, she realised she was not holding her staff in her right hand anymore. Actually, she had no right hand left, only a stump which was bleeding abundantly. Mahaut felt her knees were giving way and she collapsed on the ground, her eyes riveted on her cut hand, her lips trembling. She then looked up. Antoinetta was towering over her, holding in her hand her black fan which was now spiked with very pointy blades as sharp as a razor.

"You…" hissed Antoinetta. "You have everything one could wish: the money, the power, a family… And you feel like this entitles you to treat other people like slaves…"

"You little…!" shrieked Mahaut, clutching her stump. "You know Trencavel! You are from the Dark Brotherhood!"

"How many times people like you ignored me when I was in the street, begging to eat?" asked Antoinetta, ignoring Mahaut. "And despite the fact you have all the money you want, you still steal other people belongings… You are pathetic!"

Yelling in rage and despite her suffering, Mahaut cast a spell at Antoinetta with her valid hand. There was not much distance between the two opponents, so there were a few chances for the spell to miss the assassin, and indeed, the fireball hit Antoinetta Marie right in the face. The mage roared in victory as she saw Antoinetta staggering, but her scream of joy died in her throat as the smoke slowly dissipate from around the assassin's head. Her face was intact, but she looked quite annoyed and two little red dots had appeared in her dark eyes.

"No…" whispered Mahaut, her eyes wide in disbelief and fear. "It is impossible…You should be dead!"

There was a flash of light and a hissing sound when the blades of the fan cut the air of the night to hit Mahaut right across the face. Blood spurt on the pavement and Mahaut yelled in horror as she tried to stop the haemorrhage of her disfigured face and her gouged eye.

"No, I am not dead, but soon you will be, Mahaut Montfort." said Antoinetta softly to Mahaut who was doubled up with pain on the ground. "However before that happy moment to come, I will make sure you give me the name of the person who provided you information on Trencavel and Valtieri…" The assassin had a very cruel smile and Mahaut could not retain a whimper. "And it is going to be very long and painful."

And it was very long and painful indeed. People with a bit of imagination don't need the details, so let's just say that Mahaut Montfort became another unlucky victim of what Lucien Lachance called "Antoinetta's little moments"…

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"Where has that damn Argonian gone!?" Lucien yelled.

J'Ghasta did not reply. Apparently indifferent to the crowd which was screaming and pushing him around, he was sniffing the air, his eyes closed in concentration.

Lucien waited patiently for him to finish while trying not to get trampled on by panicked people. He looked around. The place was a complete mess. The Daedric hordes of Dagon had not reached that part of the city yet, but there were already dead bodies lying on the floor, and from what Lucien could see, the poor buggers had been victim of their panicked compatriots who had trodden on them to death while fleeing away. The crowd was all moving in the same direction, and the Lucien turned his attention back on what they were trying to escape from.

"Daedras are coming this way, man, so I urge you to hurry a bit, please…" said the Speaker as took his sword and one of his daggers out.

The Khajiit finally opened his eyes and made a face.

"I am afraid I have lost Shaleez' track…"

"You what?!" exclaimed Lucien in indignation. "But you told me it was going to be piece of cake!"

"Well, sorry, but with all this smoke and blood around, my sense of smell is completely disturbed!" J'Ghasta protested while still sniffing the air to try to find a lead.

Lucien gave a big sigh and made an effort not to yell out of frustration. His eyes moved toward There were other important things that were requiring his full and immediate attention.

"We'd better forget about your very superior sense of smell then!" he said mockingly, coming to guard. "Because in a moment, there will far more blood and smoke around here than now…!"

The Khajiit turned around. Behind the crowd of people who were still trying to escape the place, he could distinguish a horde of Daedras coming toward them. Some guards were trying to stop their terrible charge, but they were unsuccessful.

"Stupid Daedras…!" muttered J'Ghasta. His hands moved quickly in front of his face and his terrible claws came out in a silky _shling!_ noise. "Come one, you doomed mob." said the Khajiit while licking his chops. "It has been a while since J'Ghasta has spilled some blood…"

J'Ghasta moved sideway as a beheaded guard fall his feet, and he mechanically dunk when the Daedra who had killed the guard attacked him. The Khajiit heard the blade cutting the air above his head, and, in a quick move, he kicked his opponent in the knees. Surprised, the Daedra yelled in pain, but his scream was brusquely cut when J'Ghasta drove his claws in his throat and torn it apart. Dark blood flooded from the wound and J'Ghasta roared out of laugher. Then, he retreated to find himself back to back with Lucien.

"I think I am going to have a lot of fun!" exclaimed the Khajiit over his shoulder. Behind him, Lucien rolled his eyes while blocking with his sword a fire ball shot by a Scamp.

"I hate battles!"

"Well, just think of it as assassination, but on a larger scale!" replied J'Ghasta happily.

"Unlike you, my dear furry friend, I favor quality over quantity!" said Lucien, sneering.

J'Ghasta spat his tongue at him as he kicked another Daedra in the stomach – or given that he was quite ignorant of Daedra anatomy, where the stomach should have been – and, as the latter clutched his belly, he grabbed his head and made it turn by one hundred eighty degrees. The disgusting sounds of broken cervical that followed showed they were certainly not able to cope with such treatment, and the Daedra dropped dead.

"Hey, have you seen that?" the Khajiit asked, beaming as he looked at the corpse. "I broke his neck as if it was kindling!"

"No, I haven't seen that, sorry!" shouted Lucien, who was fighting two Daedras at once. "I am kind of busy right now…!"

"Man, you really missed something! Seriously, you could pay a bit more attention to…!"

J'Ghasta interrupted himself brusquely, and, in a swift move, grabbed one of the guards who were fighting by his side. The surprised man found himself projected in front in the Khajiit, and froze in horror when an arrow hit him right in between the eyes. He then fell on the ground, his eyes still wide in shock.

"Hey, you could have done that with a Daedra!" Lucien said reproachfully as he cut one of his opponents' arms with his sword and impaled the second one on his dagger. "It is not as if there were too many guards around at the moment!"

"There are always too many guards around!" exclaimed J'Ghasta who was scanning the surroundings to determine the position of his aggressor. "Look over there!" he added, pointing at something.

Shaleez was standing up on one of the parapet, her bow in her hands. She smiled when she realized she had been busted, and quickly ran away, jumping with ease from one roof to another.

"Hey, where is she going?" asked J'Ghasta.

Lucien's eyes moved from the place where Shaleez had been standing toward where she was apparently going.

"Of course…It was obvious." he said under his breath. "The Palace!" he then exclaimed. "J'Ghasta, she is going toward the White Gold Tower!"

"What? But why?"

"If you had something as valuable as Umbra, where would be the safest place to keep it?"

There was pause, broken by an appreciative whistle coming from between the Khajiit's lips.

"Well done Lucien! Now, all we have to do is to get ride of those stupid

"I don't think it will be necessary…" Lucien pointed out.

Indeed, the remaining Daedras had retreated far from the deadly duo and were looking at the Imperial and the Khajiit with circumspection.

"Bwhahaha! You fear me, hey?" J'Ghasta roared. "You have found your mast…What?" he asked as Lucien was urgently patting him on the shoulder.

"J'Ghasta… I think you really should have a look over there…"

Something in Lucien's voice made the Khajiit felt he really had to listen to his friend. He turned slowly back and his jaw dropped as he identified the big silhouette which was standing in the middle of the street.

"Oh Unholy Matron…Don't tell me it is…"

"…a land Dreugh." finished Lucien in a squeaky voice which contrasted a lot with his normal deep and warm tone.

Among Daedras, land Dreughs were certainly one of the most feared creatures. Even if it had the intelligence of a mudcrab crossed with a goblin, its lack of cleverness was largely compensated by its amazing strength. And this one was one of the biggest J'Ghasta had ever seen.

The creature was standing in the middle of the street and was serenely dismembering the dead body of a man, pulling limbs after limbs as if it was playing "she-loves-me, she-loves-me-not". The Dreugh stopped when the corpse ran out of members and when it realized it had other potential prays…

Its big and black stupid eyes narrowed as they focused on J'Ghasta and Lucien. Then, it gave a scream, and the sound, which seemed to be a mix of a hiss and a roar, made a shiver running along the two assassin's spin.

"This is going to be complicated…" Lucien said under his breath and playing mechanically with his dagger. His companion grumbled.

"It is… That's why you are going to go after Shaleez while I am taking care of our spidey friend here."

Lucien rolled his eyes.

"Don't be silly!" he exclaimed. "You will never manage to get ride of this one alone!"

As if it agreed to what Lucien had just said, the Dreugh made its mandibles creaking and a bit of saliva dripped on the cobblestones. A puff of smoked rose in the air when the corrosive liquid fell on the stone, quickly followed by a strong smell of acid…

"Hey, I am a Master of Ancestor Moth hand-to-hand combat, and this is not an insect full of legs that will stop me!"

The Dreugh gave another of its frightening scream, and started to walk toward the two assassins prudently, his chitin carapace creaking sinisterly. Its mandibles continued to snapped, slowly first, then faster and faster as it was getting closer to them.

"All right." said the Khajiit in a small voice. "It may be stronger than me, but at least I have brains!"

"Yes, and if you don't want to see your wonderful brain splattered on the pavement, you can't order me to leave n…!"

He stopped when J'Ghasta put his very shape claws right under his nose.

"Speaker, your Listener gave you an order! Shall I make you a scar on your other cheek to keep company to the first one and to remind you of the Tenets of the Dark Brotherhood?"

Lucien was about to protest but J'Ghasta saw it coming, and he moved his terrible claws closer from his friend's face. The latter rolled his eyes and gave a very annoyed sigh.

"As you wish, Listener. You are the boss!" Lucien spat. "But don't come to me to complain about how you ended up into pieces!"

J'Ghasta shrugged and looked at Lucien who quickly vanished in the street. Then, he turned his attention back on the Dreugh and made his knuckles creaking. The Daedra hissed and raised its pincers, ready to strike…

"All right, mate. It is between you and me now!"

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"We are almost there!" yelled Vanin as he and the group passed the gates which lead to the Temple district. "One little more effort!"

The streets were in complete chaos. People were running around, trying to avoid being stuck in the fights between Daedras and guards. But Martin's group was progressing well. Hassildor, Ocato and Vanin were first cleaning the way with their spells while Teinaava and Gogron – to his greatest displeasure – were protecting the rearguard. As for Martin, he was standing in the middle of the group with Vicente and Sigrid who, after their stay in prison, were not exactly in form for a battle. But as they were getting closer to the Temple, the ranks of the Daedras became thicker, and their progression was more and more difficult and dangerous.

"We won't make it!" shouted Ocato, casting a thunder spell on a Daedroth which dropped dead. "They are far too many of them! I wish I had taken the Umbra, it would have made things easier!"

"Ah, stop talking about that doomed sword!" said Vanin, infuriated. "It is better locked in your apartments than here!"

At the words, Vicente and Sigrid exchanged an interested glance.

"Well, maybe, but at least it would have been more useful than a former and obese battle mage!"

Ontus Vanin sneered and put his face right under Ocato's – or at least tried, because the High Elf was taller than him.

"Tell me that again, you old scarecrow with back-slicked hair…" hissed Vanin.

Hassildor was about to separate the two mages when an old little woman popped out in thin air between them, shaking a black cane and yelling happily in a high pitched voice.

"Do not worry, my lords!" she shrieked, her voice quavering in excitement. "For the Hero of Kvatch and the Dragonborn will defeat Dagon!"

Ocato and Vanin blinked as they recognised the old lady who was protesting loudly just before Trencavel's execution. She was jumping around excitedly, distributing lethal blows with her ebony cane around her. Many Deadras were lying on the pavement, whining and clutching their crotch while Furball was licking their face with enthusiasm. The old lady was followed by the little Bosmer with the very strange haircut who also was protesting before the execution, and he looked positively terrorised.

"We are all going to die! We are all going to die" he cried, hiding behind the old lady.

"Aaaah, shut up and give me that bloody placard!"

And snatching it from around the adoring fan's neck, she started to hit Deadras over the head with it.

"Oh, what a woman…" whispered Vanin appreciatively, a little gleam in his eyes.

"It is not the moment to whisper sweet nothings, Vanin." said Hassildor between gritted teeth. "We need to find a way to get to the Temple without being noticed by Dagon!"

"You are the brain of the team!" Vanin protested. "_You_ find a plan!"

"I think we should split the group into two." proposed Martin. "One group will come with me to the Temple, while the other will try to attract Dagon's attention…"

There was a silence.

"Right." said Ocato, making a face. "Who wants to volunteer to attack Dagon?"

"I do." said Gogron resolutely.

"Why am I not surprised?" Teinaava asked, rolling his eyes.

"I don't like him…" muttered Gogron, ignoring Teinaava's sarcasm.

"Oh, why?" asked the Argonian. "Because he is destroying the entire city? Because he is killing people? Or simply because he is trying to taker over the world?"

"No, because he is red, taller and stronger than me…" growled Gogron while tightening his grip on the handle of his battle axe. "And frankly, that really, really pisses me off!"

"Lady Trencavel should stay with Martin," suggested Lord Hassildor, "while the rest of us will take care of Dagon."

"There is no way I am going to let you take all the risks!" Sigrid objected.

A hand fell on her shoulder. It was Martin's.

"Sigrid, I need you to stay with me…" he said with one of his disarming smile.

"And I am staying with Sigrid." said Vicente in flat a tone. "She needs more protection than you people."

"Glad to see you care about us." said Count Hassildor briskly, trying not to pay attention to Vicente who was smiling and shaking his head, amused. "But do any of you have an idea on how to divert Dagon's attention while Martin is trying to get into the Temple?"

Eyes narrowed in deep concentration, Gogron was looking intently at the feet of the Daedric Prince who was trampling over a group of courageous but rather brainless guards and turning them into a bloody purée. Then, he turned toward Janus Hassildor and beamed.

"I think I have an idea…"

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Merhunes Dagon was ecstatic. His troops had destroyed Kvatch, the city dedicated to one of his strongest enemy, Dragon-God of Time Akatosh, and now, he had put an end to the threat represented by the last of the Septims... There was no way to vanquish him now, and soon, Nirn would be his…

The Daedric Lord bust out into an evil laugh, and, unfortunately for him, by doing so, he did not see to the two little groups of people which were running toward the gates of the Temple of the One - and toward himself as well.

The trouble with Daedra was the fact they had never really grasped the concept of "mortal body". As immortal spirit, they needed a physical incarnation to manifest their presence to mortals, and when Merhunes Dagon chose his physical form, he decided that it had to be worth the money - hence the thirty feet high body and other fashionable options like the two pairs of arms. However, he never understood that a mortal body, even if you are a powerful Daedra Lord, needed "maintenance". And that was why having a regular pedicure never stroke him as a necessity.

And unfortunately for him, the Prince of Chaos and Destruction was about to discover that a small ingrown nail – even if less classy than Achinlles (2)' heel – could become a huge problem when an annoyed Orc had decided to drive his axe right into it…

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"Right, Martin!" shouted Sigrid, and his voiced echoed in the empty building. "We are in the Temple of the One, as you wanted! What now?"

Martin remained quiet. He was looking at the two huge basins where the Dragonfires should have been burning. But they were not, and would never burn again… The weight Martin was feeling on his chest almost became unbearable. He should have been happy to enter this place, as it would have been synonym of both his coronation as Emperor of Tamriel and his marriage with Sigrid Trencavel. Instead, the Temple was going to be the last place where they would ever meet…

"Martin?" Sigrid insisted. "Are you listening?"

Suddenly, a very loud series of screams came from outside the building, making the walls of the Temple trembling.

"Dagon doesn't sound very pleased…" Vicente observed, his eyebrows knotted in restlessness. "We should hurry, Martin, or I don't think our friends outside will last long…"

Martin finally put an end to his daydreaming with a big sigh and turned toward his two companions who were standing side by side.

"I am sorry Sigrid. Our marriage should have been full of happy guests, flowers, songs..."

"Well, it doesn't really matter…" said Sigrid with a nervous grin. "I mean, it can wait a few more days, can't it?"

Martin had a sad smile while he searched for something into his pocket. Then, he retrieved the wedding ring he had offered her several days ago and made it rolling in the palm of his hand.

"I wish I could pass it around your finger to show the Gods and the people I had chosen you to share my life. But destiny decided differently… Anyway…Please take it to remember the affection I have for you. But I don't want you to feel like you are attached to me forever…"

"Martin?" Sigrid asked, narrowing her eyes. "What are you trying to tell me?"

But she gave a jump when, outside, Dagon howled in rage again. Ignoring the tumult, Martin put the ring into Sigrid's hand and closed her fingers over it.

"I love you, Sigrid Trencavel." said Martin with a tender smile.

"But what on Nirn do you…?" the girl started, but Martin had already turned his attention toward Valtieri.

"Vicente, it was a pleasure to fight by your side. Please take care of her…"

The vampire nodded gravely and put a hand on Sigrid's shoulder.

"Now, I have to go." Martin carried on. "The Dragon awaits…"

And without commenting more, Martin turned toward the centre of the Temple and started to walk away.

"Vicente?" Sigrid asked in a strangled voice in which terror was rising slowly. "What is he going to do…?"

"I am sorry Sigrid." Vicente whispered slowly. "I really am…"

For a second, the girl remained as still as a statute, as if she had been stricken by lightening. Then, her face twitched in pain and despair.

"Martin! Come back! Please!"

Sigrid tried jumped forward to run after Martin, but Vicente was quicker. He grabbed her by her sleeve, and held her to prevent her from running away.

"Martin!" yelled Sigrid, now in tears, struggling in Vicente's arms. "Don't do that – Vicente, for Sithis' sake, let me go! _Please!_"

But Martin was not listening. He was already standing in the middle of the Temple, waiting for his enemy to come. And as if Merhunes Dagon had heard some kind of signal, the roof of the Temple of the One exploded, revealing the terrible figure of the Daedric Lord, standing out against the grey sky. The Prince of Chaos and Destruction roared in victory, and he rose on of his fist to squash Martin like a miserable insect. But as he was about to strike, rays of light started to shine out of the Amulet of King Martin was wearing, enveloping him like a fire blanket.

Martin closed his eyes and felt the power running into his whole body. It was a funny impression, really... It was as if he was separated from his body but still could feel it...

And then, everything became luminous.

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"We must stop them here!" screamed Nirana Carvain. Equipped from head to foot with ebony armour, the Countess was trying to motivate her troops.

"A line!" she shouted again. "Try to form a line!"

After all these hours of terrible battling, the men were completely harassed. They had fought courageously, and many braves were lying dead on the floor. But despite their exhaustion, the troops still found the energy to fight in their leader, Countess Nirana Carvain, who was effectively seconded by captain Burd – as always. The latter seemed completely engrossed in the battle, but a careful observer would have noticed that the captain was shooting regular glances toward the Countess and always made sure not to stand too far away from her. And Burd feared a lot for the Countess' life at the moment, as she had difficulties to turn her eyes away from the fantastic battle that was taking place over their head.

A gigantic Dragon made out of light and fire had mysteriously appeared in the Temple of the One and some guards had exclaimed that Akatosh himself had come to save them.

"Whoever this dragon may be," started the Countess, as if she was reading Burd's thoughts, "I hope he is going to defeat Dagon and chase the Daedras away soon because I start feeling tired!"

"Ah! Who needs a dragon when they have Nirana Carvain, the Tigress of the north?" replied captain Burd, laughing.

"The _what_?" asked the Countess, making a pout.

Burd, smiling widely, was about to reply when his smile froze. Behind him, he had head the sound of a sword being taking out of its sheath. He turned around to find himself facing Dremora warrior, who was ready to impale him on his blade.

The Countess reacted quickly. Without uttering a word, her eyes riveted on the Dremora, she snatched the bow of the marksman who was standing by her side. Ignoring the bowman's protests, she picked up an arrow from a corpse lying on the floor and she shot the creature in the jaw. It gave a scream quickly stopped when his head flew in the air, cut by the soldier who had come to Burd's rescue.

"Who needs a dragon indeed!" exclaimed the Countess, with a thin smile, while the captain was looking at his Countess, mouth open.

In the light of the flames which were ravaging the Imperial City, she was looking like those representations of the Goddess of War in ancient and now disappeared civilisations. Ah, Nirana… She was so strong, so beautiful, so courageous…

Captain Burd gulped. It was now or never… After all, if it had worked for Martin Septim, it should work for him, shouldn't it…?

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed Nirana Carvain by the shoulders and gently forced her to face him.

"Captain Burd, may I ask you what you think you are doing?" the Countess asked coldly.

"Let me give you an explanation, Countess…"

And Burd kissed her. The Countess eyes widened, but she was too surprised to react. Around them, the guards were looking at the scene, awestruck. Even the Daedra stopped fighting and raised a curious eyebrow at the two clasped silhouettes.

The kiss lasted at least five good seconds before Nirana Carvain came round again and freed herself from Captain Burd's bear hug. She took one step back and shot him a terrible glance. If her eyes had been mage's staffs, Burd would have been pulverised immediately. But Burd did not get flustered. He beamed at her and, after a while, the Countess smiled too.

"_Yeah, I did it!"_ thought the captain, delighted, his mind blurred by a nice and shining pink fog. _"Praise Mara! I can't believe I did it! I am the bes…!"_

His happy thoughts were brusquely interrupted by a violent pain in the jaw. Something or someone had hit him so hard Burd was convinced that the sound of his vibrating molars had woken up his doctor-barber-dentist.

Feeling a bit groggy, the captain looked down at the Countess' face. She was still smiling, but in a very weird way which was saying "I-have-teeth-and-I-am-going-to-bite-you". Burd gulped, trying to find a way to escape this tricky situation…

Fortunately, this extremely embarrassing moment was interrupted by a scream.

"Be careful!" yelled one of the guards, pointing at something which was coming toward them at high speed. "A land Dreugh!"

At the words, the other Daedras retreated and all the men immediately came on guard, ready to fight with the terrible monster. But it soon appeared it was not necessary, as the creature seemed in very bad shape…

It was bleeding from many wounds, and at least one of its legs appeared to be broken. But it was still fighting with the strength born of despair, trying to get rid of the hissing creature which was standing on its shoulder and who apparently wanted to pull up its head.

"Hey, it is J'Ghasta!" exclaimed Burd.

The Khajiit was in no better shape than the land Dreugh. He was covered in deep scratches and bits which were bleeding abundantly as well, but he did not seem to care. His muscles tensed to the maximum, his teeth bared in rage, he was clutching the Dreugh's head.

"Oh my Gods!" exclaimed the Countess, her hand clasped over her mouth in amazement and restlessness. "He is going to get killed!"

In a last terrible effort, J'Ghasta pulled the Dreugh's head and the tendons, muscles and flesh were torn up. Finally, in a sickening _shlurpcrack!_ sound, the Khajiit managed to tear off the creature's head. But in a final move, one of the legs on the Dreugh hit J'Ghasta in the chest and made him fly in the air.

"Oh Gods…" Carvain said again, running toward J'Ghasta who had landed on his back a few feet away.

"Guys!" Burd yelled to his soldiers. "Finish me those Daedras off!" And he ran after the Countess, letting his men exterminating the remaining Daedras.

When he arrived near J'Ghasta and Carvain, the latter was already kneeling on the ground. She had installed the Khajiit's head on her lap and Captain Burd felt like a pinch of jealousy.

"Are you all right?" asked Carvain.

J'Ghasta's eyelids flickered and he opened his eyes.

"I would feel better after a beer…" he muttered.

"I am afraid we don't have that article in store…"

The Khajiit winced and tried to get up, but fell on the ground again.

"Right." he sighed. "Before I faint, could someone tell me who, between the Dragon and Merhunes Dagon, is winning the fight?"

All heads turn toward the Temple of the One. The fire Dragon had caught Dagon by the throat and the latter was trying to get away, but without much success…

"The Dragon, I think." replied Captain Burd.

"Good." said J'Ghasta in a sigh.

And he fainted.

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As the Dragon tightened its grip on his throat, Merhunes Dagon gave a last scream of rage and pain, battling the air helplessly with his two pairs of arms. Then, the scream turned into a whimper and in a flash of light, the Prince of Chaos and Destruction disappeared. Exclamations of surprise and fear rose from the crowd of onlookers. But the Dragon did not care.

Painting, it took a few deep breaths, and turning its head toward the sky, it gave a last roar which, to those who heard it, sounded like a strange mix of both victory and sorrow. And then, the light was gone and the fire Dragon turned to stone.

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In the ruins of the Temple of the One, everything was quiet. Some fires had started to consume what remained of the wall coverings and ashes and dust were flying in the air. The place seemed completely empty. "Seemed" only, because some rubble moved slowly and Vicente Valtieri emerged, dragging behind him a surprising emotionless Sigrid. The two blinked in the cold light of the moons, and their eyes immediately fell on the huge stone Dragon which was standing in the middle of what remained of the Temple of the One. Hypnotised, Sigrid slowly walked toward the statute and, ocean near one of the huge feet, let her hand ran on the stone. It was cold and looked like marble.

"Martin?" she whispered as if she was expecting a reply.

But of course, the Dragon did not reply. Sigrid closed her eyes and tried to control the sobs which were slowly rising in her chest.

"He is dead, isn't he?" she said, trying to prevent her voice from quavering.

Vicente looked at the statute and used his vampiric powers to feel if anything was emanating from it – a magical aura or anything equivalent. But the stone Dragon was desperately empty of anything.

"I really don't know…" ventured Vicente, who did not want to rush the girl. "His physical body had disappeared, but… maybe his mind is still with us…"

Apparently not paying attention to what Vicente was saying, Sigrid was still walking around the stature when something creaked under her feet. She looked down. It was the Amulet of Kings. The red jewel which proudly gleamed on the chest of generation of emperors and empresses was cracked and drab. Actually, it looked…dead.

Bending forward, Sigrid picked up the Amulet and raised it above her head, letting the light of Masser and Secunda playing on the necklace.

"_There won't be an emperor anymore."_ thought Sigrid, her eyes riveted on the Amulet. _"All those efforts in vain…"_

"_Not in vain, Sigrid…" _the Voice whispered in her head. _"Destiny has been accomplished. The jaws of Oblivion have been shut, Dagon was banned from Nirn and the Gods have respected their promise."_

_Destiny…Gods…Promise…_ The words were dancing in her head, nagging her…_ Destiny…Gods…Promise…_

Roaring in pure rage, she threw the broken Amulet angrily on the floor and started trampling on it hysterically under Vicente's astonished eyes.

"Destiny and the Gods can root! It is not fair!" Sigrid yelled. "It should not have ended that way! _It is not fair!"_

"Sigrid, please, calm down…" started Vicente, walking toward her.

"You want me to calm down!?" she shrieked, tears rolling on her cheeks. "Martin should have been emperor! He should have married me! We should have had plenty of children and be happy ever after!"

"The Gods decided differently…"

"Don't tell me about the Gods!" Sigrid screamed at the top of her voice. "They are just a bunch of impostors who sacrificed an innocent to win a battle in their war against Oblivion!"

"Stop this immediately!" yelled Vicente, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. "Martin has accomplished his destiny! He was born to sacrifice himself to save Nirn from Merhunes Dagon! And there was nothing you – or anyone else – could do against that! So stop blaming the Gods and try to act with dignity, for Sithis' sake!"

Sigrid looked like Vicente had slapped her in the face, and she stopped struggling, opening wide eyes full of tears. The vampire released his grip on her, and she took a few steps back before collapsing on her knees.

"Born to die… He was born to die…" gasped Sigrid, half laughing, half crying. "This is the most awful thing I have ever heard!"

Vicente kneeled down by her and took her in his arms. She curled up against his chest, sobbing quietly.

"I agree with you… It is perfectly unfair." he whispered slowly in her ears, stroking her hair. "But what is done is done, and there is nothing we can do to bring him back…"

At the words, Sigrid moaned in despair and drove her nails in the vampire's neck.

"Sigrid, please…" pleaded Vicente while trying to maintain a safety distance between his neck and Sigrid's nail. "You have already accomplished a lot and I know it is hard, but you must be courageous for a little more time…"

She looked up at him, sniffing and raising an interrogative eyebrow.

"The Ankou…" explained the vampire. "He is still after you, remember?"

"He can take his stupid soul back, and mine as a bonus!" she spat between to sobs. "I don't care!"

"'_Stupid soul'… Thanks a lot__." _the Voice muttered angrily in Sigrid's head.

"Don't you care at all?" asked Vicente, raising an eyebrow. "You know, I doubt Martin would have appreciated to sacrifice everything he cared for to see Nirn taken over by another evil entity… and to see you die…"

The vampire knew it was a very easy and obvious argument, but he was also aware that it was probably the most pertinent one in the present case. And indeed, Sigrid's sobs decreased and she gave a big sigh.

"I hate you, Vicente." she said.

"What?! But… why?"

The vampire looked shocked first, but relaxed when Sigrid had a sad little smile.

"You are too reasonable."

"I know, I know…" Vicente replied, smiling and patting her in the back.

The vampire then looked up and his facial expression became concerned. In the sky, the moons Masser and Secunda were almost aligned…

(1) Ma'Kiavelli was a very famous Khajiit who lived in Elsweyr during the trouble times of constant civil war between the tribes and before the Mane was established as the supreme moral authority. Convinced that Elsweyr could be united and governed by a single entity – king, Council…– as long as it was powerful enough to impose its rules over the tribes, he decided to write a book called "The Big Chief" which summed up many political principles on how to conquer power and keep it.

But sadly for him, Ma'Kiavelli did not take into account the fact that many warlords of his time could barely read…

(2) A mythical hero of the First Era. The young Achinlles was famous for complaining all the time about his very soft and thin skin which made him suffering from chronicle blisters - most of them concentrating on his heels. He turned into a legend during the siege of the city of Troill, where he died, killed by his companions who could not bear listening to him complaining anymore.-


	24. Death's Servant

**Chapter 24**

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In the Imperial City, the atmosphere was beyond description. Merhunes Dagon had been banned, and people were shouting their happiness, hugging one another randomly.

As for the Daedra, when they had realized that their master had been defeated, they had tried to retreat to the Oblivion gates that had opened in the Imperial City. But they had dematerialized when Dagon had been vanquished by the Dragon, and now, the Daedra were finding themselves trapped in a city full of people who were decided to get their revenge…

"We won!" yelled Vanin, who had climbed on a barricade and had taken his set of mages robes away, exhibiting his fat belly. Fortunately, he had kept his pants on…

"We wooooon!" he shouted again. "We are the champions, my friends! Woooot!"

A chorus of happy voices answered him and Vanin decided to improvise a quick twirl, to the greatest displeasure of Chancellor Ocato who was trying to organize the troops for an offensive against the remaining of Dagon's forces.

"It is not the moment to party, Vanin!" Ocato spat. "There are still Daedras around!"

"Relax, Ocato my dear!" exclaimed Vanin, playing with his magic staff like a majorette. "We can dance! Everything is under control!"

"No, it is not!" barked the Chancellor. "Get down here right now you silly old man, and please put your robes back before I make my guards arrest you for indecent assault!"

Vanin had a huge mischievous grin.

"Indecent assault, hey? I am going to show you what indecent assault really is!"

And turning around, the old mage dropped his pants, showing Ocato a huge pair of cheeky buttocks. The crowd cheered and Furball barked merrily, covering the Chancellor's yell of rage and disgust. As for Lord Hassildor, he was desperately trying not to burst out laughing.

"Eat my shorts!" Vanin carried on, wiggling his butt at the Chancellor.

This time, the crowd roared in laugher. Ocato looked like he was going to have an apoplexy crisis. He was so red in the face that even Merhunes Dagon would have looked pale compared to him.

"Ontus!" said Lord Hassildor, who had managed to control his hilarity and was now determined to prevent Ocato murdering Vanin by forcing him to swallow his pants. "Please try to find out what happened to Martin, Sigrid and Valtieri. I will stay with Chancellor Ocato to finish cleaning the city from the Daedras."

Still trying to breath, the Chancellor did not make any comment. As for Vanin, he turned around to face the audience, and straightening up, he executed a perfect military salute.

"All right, sir!" he exclaimed with a big smile as he heard some female guards chuckling in the assembly.

"And for the Nine's sake, _put your trousers on_!"

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Lucien was now carefully walking in the ruins around the Palace. The place was quiet, but the disembodied corpses of humans and Daedras scattered on the floor showed that violent fights took place here.

Lucien took a deep breath and his eyes narrowed in pleasure. Ah, yes, the smell of blood…

Now Dagon had vanished, the red clouds had disappeared, and the sky was all clear again. Night had fallen long ago and the two moons, Masser and Secunda, were brightly illuminating the city, or rather what should be called now the battle field... Indeed, even if all the Oblivion Gates had disappeared but there were still a few survivors from Dagon'hordes in the city, and the clamor of the fight was vibrating in the air of the night.

The assassin heard some noise on his right and he quickly hid behind a half collapsed wall, concealing as best as he could in its shadow. He then cautiously looked around. Nothing…

Holding his breath, he carefully moved away from his hiding-place and scanned the surroundings methodically, analyzing every suspect shadow. His reflexes as assassin had come back, and for the first time in weeks, his mind seemed to be entirely focused on the tasked he had been assigned to. He would find Shaleez, kill her, and get the Umbra. In this order or not, that did not really matter…. And after that, he would find the Ankou and destroy the darn liche once and for all.

A thin smile appeared on Lucien's face at the thought. He perfectly knew one of his main weak points was his arrogance and many had warned him against the consequences of such kind of attitude – negligence, which is often lethal in a profession like assassin. But he could not prevent himself having mental images of him standing up, a foot on the corpse of the Ankou, savoring his victory. He was surrounded by assassins – mainly female ones – who were praising him, while Trencavel was standing in the background, looking at him with the same eyes she use to look at that moron of Martin Septim…

Lucien bit his lower lip and made an embarrassed pout when he realized he was daydreaming. Well, maybe not _all_ his reflects as assassins had come back, after all…

Pushing his dreams of victory aside for the moment, he quickly assessed the situation. He was standing in the middle of the Green Path, the antic cemetery around the Palace and apart from the few cobblestones, he had nowhere to hide. It brusquely occurred to him that he would make a perfect target for such a talented marksman as Shaleez. Somewhere on his left, he could hear the liquid sound of blood dripping along the gutter and he could feel the night breeze on his face…

"_Funny,"_ he thought, _"that I never really feel alive unless I am really in danger…"_

He had lost Shaleez from sight long ago, but it did really matter because he knew where the Argonian was going. Indeed, what a better place to guard Umbra than the Imperial palace? And there was another thing Lucien was certain about: Shaleez wanted him dead, and she was certainly not going to let go such an opportunity…

Lucien smiled as he spotted a move behind a cobblestone on his right.

"Get out of there. I know you are here." he said very calmly as he drew his silver sword out of its sheath while preparing the dagger he hid in his sleeve.

There was a movement behind the rock, and a silhouette carefully emerged from there. But to Lucien's greatest surprise, it was not Shaleez's…

"Good evening Lucien." said the arrogant voice of Foulques Montfort. "Enjoying a little walk?"

The young boy walked into the light of the moons which reflected on his very fair hair, creating a white halo around his head.

"What a lovely night, really!" continued the boy, making a theatrical move with his arms to show Lucien the surroundings. "The smell of fire and blood, the cries of the dyings… Isn't that absolutely marvellous?"

To Lucien's greatest annoyance, he had to admit that Foulques was right. He was indeed enjoying the carnage, but there was no way he was going to admit he agreeded with Foulques, so he remained silent. The boy looked disappointed.

"What does that silence mean, Lucien?" he asked. "Do I have to understand you disagree with me?"

Again, Lucien did not utter a word but was looking intensely at the pommel of the sword which was hung in Montfort's back. His stomach made a knot when he realised that the sword in question was the Umbra…

"Ah, I can see you have noticed my new acquisition!" exclaimed Foulques happily, taking the weapon out of its sheath. The sword had a little scream of pure malevolent joy when Montfort came to guard.

"Umbra is a pure marvel! Look at that!" continued Foulques, his eyes gleaming. "Perfectly balanced, as sharp as a razor, as light as a feather…"

But Lucien had seen and heard enough. It did not take him much time to realise that if Foulques had the Umbra, his chance of winning the fight against the Breton were very low. The assassin's grabbed the blade of the dagger hidden in his sleeves and threw it as hard as he could toward Foulques' throat. The dagger quickly flew toward its target, but at the last moment, Umbra turned of its own will in Foulques' hand and veered the dagger which exploded when touching the cursed metal of the sword. Lucien swore under his breath.

"That was not very fair play…" said Foulques, shaking his head and walking carefully toward his opponent.

"So, you have found a new toy, Montfort." asked Lucien sarcastically. "A big sword for the little boy? How cute! You really have something to _compensate_, haven't you?"

Foulques grinned and, without making a sound, charged him. Lucien just had the time to jump sideway to avoid the purple gleaming blade, which roared angrily. Lucien turned back immediately to face his opponent, and so did Montfort.

"Nice. Very nice…" Foulques commented. "Usually, people die at the first assault with Umbra. But trying to avoid me is not the solution…"

"No, you are right. But killing you probably is..."

Foulques burst out laughing.

"You have a sharp tongue, like my dear cousin Sigrid. By the way, how is she? I had a little chat with her the other day, when she was in prison…"

"I bet you had!" growled Lucien, trying to keep an eye on Foulques' move while looking around to find a possible escape.

"Well, I can't say she was extremely enthusiastic at the prospect but I know how to be convincing…"

"I guess calling you a fucking and sick son of a bitch would not be enough to…"

But Lucien did not finish his sentence. Too busy looking for a possible way of escaping from Foulques and Umbra, he had not noticed the boy was carefully preparing an attack. Without any warning, Montfort had leapt forward, the sword brandished in front of him, and, this time, the blade did not miss its target.

Lucien yelped in pain when the metal was driven in his flesh, tearing apart the tendons and the muscles in his side. It was as if Foulques had hit him with a blade made out of ice. But it was not the worst…

"So, how does it feel to be hurt by Umbra, the Eaters of Souls?" asked Foulques, sounding genuinely concerned. "I have heard that the feeling is absolutely awful, as if a part of you had been ripped away... Please tell me Lucien, I like to practise empathy with my victims. It makes things more interesting…"

The assassin freed himself from the blade and retreated, trying to come back again. He could hear his blood beating in his ears and he felt like vomiting. He wanted to hurl insults at Foulques, but his brain was apparently unable to connect to his mouth.

"Come on! What kind of memories or feeling have you lost?" Foulques carried on with a sadistic expression on his face. "The first night you did not wear nappies in bed? Or maybe your first kiss with Trencavel?

Lucien was still walking backward, trying to put as much distance as he could between Montfort and him. But his legs were shaking, he had trouble to think coherently and that explained why he was unable to avoid the next blow. It was not a lethal one, only a long cut on his chest, but again, in addition of the physical pain, Lucien felt like part of his energy as well as had been sucked up.

He gritted his teeth, dropped his sword and kneeled on the floor, unable to stand up anymore. But he had no time to recover. Foulques stroke him again, in the back this time. Again, Lucien felt like the sword had taken something away from him.

"_The little bastard… He is playing with me."_ thought Lucien, biting his lower lip and scratching the pavement with his nails not to yell.

Indeed, Foulques could have killed him here and now if he really had wanted to. But apparently, he was taking too much pleasure in torturing Lucien to put an immediate and definitive end to his entertainment. A bit of saliva was dripping at one corner of his mouth because of the excitation, and the little game lasted a while, until the only thing Lucien was able to do was crawling on the floor.

"Ah, come on!" exclaimed Foulques, pushing the assassin with the tip of his boot. "Do something! Move!"

Lucien shot him a very dark look but remained still. If he had to die, right, but there was no way he was going to divert that little sod…

"Well, this is not funny anymore!" the Breton noted with the disappointed pout of a little boy tired of a toy. He sighed, turned his back to his victim, and took a few steps away from him. Breathing heavily, Lucien managed to get up on his elbows. Everything around him looked blurred, but he managed to take stock of the situation. He was covered in bloody cuts all over his body, from torso of calves. Fortunately, apart from the wound on his side, the other ones were not serious; but were throbbing nevertheless. Groaning in pain, he then reported his attention back on Foulques. The Breton still had his back turned to him.

"It is a shame Sigrid is not there to see this…" he said, sounding disappointed. "Ah, nevermind!"

Then, rotating on himself, he faced Lucien again, and, to the latter realised that Foulques was about to kill him.

"And this how Lucien Lachance, assassin for the Dark Brotherhood, died!" the boy yelled.

As narrative causality demanded and despite his rather foggy mind, Lucien saw the Umbra cutting the air and moving toward his head in slow motion. He closed his eyes, waiting to feel the cold bite of the metal on his skin. But the blow never came and his head remained firmly attached to his neck. Instead, there was an electric noise, as if lightening had struck something, and Lucien felt a sticky and hot liquid thing splashing on his face. Holding his breath and opening his eyes slowly, he looked up at Foulques.

The boy's eyes were opened wide in surprise as they looked at the big hole in his chest – and, wincing in disgust, Lucien suddenly realised what was spread on his face…. Looking more confused than agonising, Montfort took a few uneasy steps and turned around again.

Ontus Vanin was standing a few feet in front of him, his staff still smoking from the curse he had just cast. There was a determined look on his face, but his lower lip was trembling a bit. He said nothing, only looking intensely at Foulques. The latter had a rather ironical smile when he recognised the old mage.

"I was right…" said Foulques with a little laugh. "You _really _do not like me, Master Vanin."

The boy's laugh turned into a death rattle. And Montfort collapsed on his stomach in a disgusting humid noise as what was left of his internal organs spread on the pavement. Umbra fell by his side, hissing in anger.

For a moment, nothing could be heard apart from the rumours of the fights around the Imperial City and the angry and menacing whispers of Umbra.

"Ma… Master Vanin?" asked Lucien, breaking the silence. As Umbra had stooped sucking his energy, he was gradually recovering his mind and energy, but he was still feeling weak. As for Vanin, he was now standing by Montfort, his staff still pointed at his corpse.

"I think you can lower your staff now, Ontus…" Lucien continued, sitting up carefully.

The mage shook his head and had a suspicious look on his face.

"Foulques is a very ingenious person, you now…"

"_Was_, Master Vanin, _was_…" corrected Lucien. "I don't think people with half of their chest missing can be ingenious – or anything else, by the way…"

There was a pause. The old mage seemed to have difficulties to take his eyes away from Foulques' corpse.

"Hmm, you may be right." the mage finally conceded, removing the tip of his staff from Foulques' dead body to point it at Lucien's chest instead. "Tell me, Lucien…Have you seen Trencavel and Valtieri?" he carried on in an informal tone.

"What?" asked Lucien, squinting on the staff.

"I was running after them when I bumped into you and Montfort..." Vanin explained, and his eyes slowly moved again toward Foulques' corpse which continued to empty itself from body fluids Vanin preferred to ignore the exact nature. "So, tell me what they are up to."

"I don't know."

"Don't lie to me, assassin!" growled Vanin as the staff started to glow. "I saw them leaving the Temple of the One, running as if Merhunes Dagon was on their heels!"

"Master Vanin, don't tell me you just save my life just to kill me afterward!"

Vanin smirked and the gleam of the staff intensified. Lucien gritted his teeth. Just his luck, really! He had just been saved from a psychopath by another one who wanted him dead…

"I just want some points to be clear, Lachance." he said with a little smile. "I was certainly _not_ trying to save your life. As far as I am concerned, I just wanted to get ride of that little abjection of Foulques. And talking about abjection, I feel like I am going to kill two birds with one stone…"

Lucien trying crawl back away from the staff, but Vanin followed him.

"By Sithis, what have I done to you, mage?" spat Lucien. "Did I cut your mother's head off while you were hiding under her bed?!"

Vanin blinked.

"What?"

"Hum, nothing… It was a personal joke." Lucien muttered.

"Well, if you like that kind of jokes, tell me something, assassin…" said the mage. "Are you afraid of death?"

Lucien was about to laugh at him and tell him that as an assassin, he did not fear death, but the words remained stuck in his throat. After what happened in that glade near Anvil, where he almost died after having been hunted and tortured by his fellow colleagues of the Black Hand, he was not able to assert such a thing. Before this event took place, Lucien had always thought he was more afraid of suffering than dying, but now he was realising he actually feared both, because, for the first time in his life, he had been the pray, not the predator…

"Yes, Master Vanin. I am afraid of death." he replied in a whisper.

There was another pause, and Ontus Vanin's eyes riveted on Lucien's. The latter realised he had committed a mistake by considering the mage as an inoffensive and rather dumb old man, because what he could see in his eyes now was very different from harmlessness and stupidity…

"So, there may be some hope for you then…" Vanin finally said softly, and a mocking gleam appeared in his eyes. "Only fools or fanatics do not fear death. And to me, they are beyond redemption."

And as he said so, he removed the tip of his staff from Lucien's chest. The latter mentally thanked the Night Mother and got up on shaky legs.

"You are probably wrong concerning me, Master Vanin. I may fear death, but killing is all my life is about… An assassin I am, and assassin will ever be."

Ontus Vanin smiled.

"We will see."

The two men's eyes then moved toward the Umbra, which was still lying on the floor, hissing in a sinister way. Then, they looked at each other and for a moment.

"I need the Umbra, Master Vanin" Lucien said.

"This thing must be destroyed." the mage replied flatly.

"You don't understand… Dagon had been banned, but there is something else which is threatening us! Something as dangerous as anything you could find in Oblivion..."

Vanin leaned heavily on his mage staff and had a little cunning smile.

"And does this have by any chance anything to do with Lady Trencavel and… the Ankou?" Lucien was an assassin experienced enough not to look surprised, but he still had to admit he was quite impressed.

"I know what you think, Lachance." Vanin carried on. "That us mages are a bunch of pompous morons, unable to find their ass with a map. And you are perfectly right! But even pompous morons can think and reach some deductions from time to time – that is to say, between two conferences on how awesome they are…"

"So, what about the Umbra?" Lucien asked, tensing his muscles to jump on the sword, even if he had very few chances to reach the Umbra before getting pulverised by Ontus Vanin's magical staff.

"I swear the sword won't be seen around again anymore!" Lucien added, feeling like his interlocutor was looking for such kind of promise.

"And why should I trust you?" the mage asked, narrowing his eyes.

Lucien decided to risk one's all.

"Well, aren't I an assassin with a chance of… redemption?" he beamed.

Vanin made a pout, and, after having bitten his lower lips a few times, he gave a big sigh.

"Damn, I must have received a blow on my head, but…" he muttered. "May the Nine forgive me, you can take the sword… You see, I am a silly old man you think there is good in every person, and I am keen to leave people a chance... But one chance only… And be sure that if I see that sword again after tonight, I will find you and you will answer to me."

The threat stayed a while in the air, and both men glared at each other. Ontus Vanin did not look menacing, but quite determined, and Lucien swore to himself that if he had to undergo the mage's anger, he would make sure to be the first one to strike...

Then he bent forward to pick up the Umbra. The blade twitched angrily in his hand, trying to free itself, but Lucien tightened its grip, and the Umbra calmed down, but it was still hissing menacingly.

"I have to go. I need to give a hand to Hassildor and Ocato" continued Vanin. "I am afraid our sissy Chancellor is right. There are still Daedras around and they are certainly fighting like heel, cornered as they are..."

"You really let me go?" Lucien asked, still quite perplexed.

"Yes, I am." said Ontus Vanin cheerfully. "But don't be sad. I am sure our ways will meet again…" he added with a little smile.

7777777777777777777

"Where is the damn stuff?!" yelled Sigrid, rampaging Chancellor's Ocato private apartments. "Where did they hide this bloody sword?!"

"Calm down, Sigrid." replied Vicente, who avoided a ripped open cushion thrown by his companion while forcing a richly decorated trunk. "It should be here, we both heard Vanin and Ocato talking about it… But I doubt Umbra is hidden in a cushion." he added when Sigrid started to tear open another silky pillow on one of the sofas.

The vampire tried to sound relaxed, but he was not. He was not sure how long they had been searching the Palace for the Umbra… Probably not more than an hour, but he felt like it had taken them hours to climb the stairs which lead to the Chancellor's apartments.

"_Why on Nirn do they have to use stairs?" _the vampire complained mentally. _"Couldn't they use magic teleportation runes, like in the mage guild?"_

Vicente thought it was probably due to the intrinsic snobbism of emperors, who liked to show people they had enough power and money to loose time climbing stairs up and down all day. But he had no time to ponder over that. The moons would soon be aligned, marking the end of the year and thus the right for the Ankou to seize of the soul of the Dark Brotherhood's last victim of the year - and regain his own soul and all his powers.

The vampire wondered how the liche would try to kill Sigrid... After all, she _had_ to be killed by a member of the Brotherhood, and apart from him, there was nobody else around… As for the Ankou, Sithis' malediction was forbidding him to kill anyone directly. But feeling that his time had come, why the Ankou would fear the Dread Father's wrath anymore?

"Vicente, I can't find it anywhere!" Sigrid lamented, interrupting the vampire in his thoughts.

"It can't be far…" said the vampire, trying to comfort her. But he was seriously starting to wonder if they would find it in time. Ah, by Sithis, he would give anything to be at the Cheydinhall sanctuary at the moment, knitting in his room or yelling at Antoinetta…

"The vampire is right, Trencavel." said a voice suddenly. "The sword is not far… Actually, it is even pretty close."

Both Sigrid and Vicente turned around. A black hooded silhouette was standing in the doorway, holding what looked like a sword sheath in its hand.

"Looking for the Umbra, aren't you?" the intruder said, taking the sword by its pommel and balancing it mockingly in front of the two assassins.

"Give it back to me!" Sigrid demanded.

"You really want it, don't you? Try to get it, then!"

And the thief ran away in the stairs.

"Sigrid! Wait!" yelled Vicente.

But it was too late. Sigrid had started to chase the black silhouette in the stairs which lead to the very top of the White Gold Tower.

"Come back, you thief! Umbra is mine!" Sigrid screamed, her voice echoing against the walls. _"Mine!"_

The black figure had a hoarse laugh and ran a little faster. Sigrid swore under her breath and try to speed up. She was physically exhausted and mentally broken, but to see her last hope going away in the hand of a petty thief was unbearable to her. Nevertheless, it was taking her great efforts to climb each step of the stairs, and she was dreading to collapse of exhaustion. But fortunately, she saw the figure dressed in black opening the trap door which lead to the top of the Tower and her lips curled up in a nasty smile.

"_You are cornered__, my little friend… There is no escape over there."_

The thief let the trap door opened and Sigrid rushed through it. A gust of cold wind hit her face and she froze. The waft was bringing to her nose a strong smell of rotten flesh which almost suffocated her. Someone was there, looking at her, and it was not the thief… Sigrid's heart stopped beating.

Standing in the middle of the platform was the Ankou. He was holding his scythe, which blade was gleaming gently, emanating a purple aura. He was of course wearing his large hat which was covering half of his face.

Suddenly, the wind made the Ankou's cape flying in the wind and Sigrid realised there was someone standing behind him. Someone holding a bent bow…

She did not see the arrow coming toward her, but she perfectly felt it as it hit her right in between the ribs. Sigrid yelled in pain, and, her hands tightening on the feathering, she tried to remove the arrow. But she did not get the time as a second arrow pierced her left thigh, quickly followed by a third one which hit her in the stomach. This time, Sigrid collapsed on her knees and slowly leaned back against the stone wall, her face twitching in pain.

"_Ah, nice to see you again, Sigrid!"_ the Ankou exclaimed happily, opening his arms as if he was going to hug her. _"I am happy to see you have in our little trap without making too many difficulties…"_

He stopped and looked at the girl who was trying to remove the arrow in her belly.

"_Stop doing that, you only hurt yourself more." _the Ankou scolding her almost tenderly. "_The arrows are poisoned with strychnine_ _and I suppose that such a talented alchemist as you perfectly knows its effects… The poison is gradually going to paralyse all your nervous system. Only powerful magic can cure strychnine and after five minutes, the effects are completely irreversible. And when the brain will get contaminated…"_

The Ankou did not finish his sentence, but he did not really have to, as the meaning was very clear to everyone. Moaning in despair, Sigrid let her hands fell by her side.

"_Well, I think you already have met Shaleez here…"_ the Ankou carried on, taking a few step sideway to expose the marksman. The Argonian had taken her hood off and was looking at Sigrid with a murderous gleam in her eyes. _"She had accepted to help me to kill you, and in exchange, I will bring Uvani back from the land of the dead - where you sent him by mixing into his plans…"_

"Can I kill her now?" Shaleez asked impatiently, apparently not wishing to come back on the painful episode of Uvani's death.

The Ankou looked up at the sky. Masser and Secunda were almost aligned now.

"_Well, why not?"_ he replied. _"The sooner the better - I doubt the Dark Brotherhood will organise other murders tonight…"_

The Argonian smiled and, taking her sabre out she walked toward Sigrid, whose eyes widened in fear and who tried to crawl away.

"No Shaleez! Leave her alone!"

The assassin looked toward the trap door and hissed in anger. As for the Ankou, he did not even bother to move his head, but a smile materialised on his desiccated lips.

"_Ah, Vicente Valtieri…"_ said the liche, still looking at the gasping Sigrid. _"I was wondering whether you would join us or not… I was afraid that your sojourn in jail may have weakened you too much to climb up here."_

"I won't let you kill Trencavel." said the vampire resolutely.

"_I was not expecting anything else from you, Vicente."_ whisperedthe Ankou in a smooth voice._ "_You_ are such a legend in the world of assassination. You are known and feared from Elsweyr's savannas to Solstheim's frozen forests. Even the assassins from the Morag Tong cross themselves after pronouncing your name…" _

"Glad you know my reputation." the vampire interjected. "So, if you don't want to see my talents in action, leave Trencavel alone!"

"_Join me, Vicente."_asked the liche suddenly._ "Join me, and I will offer you what you desire most."_

"You don't have anything I want."

"_Oh, do you think so?"_

The Ankou raised his skeletal arm and opened his hand. An energy ball materialised in the air and Vicente took a few steps back, ready to parry any kind of magical attack. But the Ankou had no intention to fight and the vampire slowly saw a face appearing in the magic ball. His heat sank.

"_I don't need to ask you whether you recognised her…"_ the Ankou started, looking at Vicente with a known smile. _"Ah, Rivanone Trencavel…_ _Don't you miss her voice, her presence, the softness of her skin…?"_

"So, if I understand well, you ask me to let Sigrid die to bring back Rivanone…" Vicente whispered, his voice quavering a bit.

"_Exactly__! It is quite a fair deal, isn't it? The life of that stupid whining and pathetic girl against the charismatic Rivanone Trencavel…"_

Vicente remained quiet for a while, his eyes riveted on the picture of Rivanone's face, which was still floating in the air, just above the Ankou's shoulder. The vampire closed his eyes and, sighing, he lowered his head. There was another silence, suddenly interrupted - to everybody's surprise - by a laugh. The Ankou frowned, looking quite irritated.

"_And could I ask you, Vicente, the reason of this sudden hilarity_?" he requested.

"You really think I am a complete moron, don't you?" the vampire replied, looking up again.

This time, the liche's face openly twisted in anger.

"_Does that mean you refuse my offer?" _

"Yes. You can stuff your fool's bargain somewhere… And tell your lapdog to put some distance between her and Trencavel!"

"_Well, if you take it that way…"_ the Ankou said between his rotten teeth. _"Shaleez, kill him."_

"_And here we go…"_ the vampire thought while taking his sword out. He then quickly looked at Sigrid. She was still lying against the wall, her eyes opened and her hands scratching the floor. A bit of blood was dripping from her mouth. How much time did he have before the effects of the poison were irreversible? Probably not much…

Vicente gritted her teeth and braced himself to face his opponent. Normally, he should not have been worried. After all, vampires' powers granted them great advantages over their opponents most of the time… The trouble was the current fight was not taking place in usual circumstances.

First, he was not facing a "normal" opponent. Shaleez was an extremely well trained assassin as well as a complete psychopath. Second, Vicente had still not recovered from the effects of garlic on his physical and magical aptitudes. Third, the Argonian could rely on the help of the Ankou, even if the liche had apparently decided not to take part to the fight – he was currently levitating in the air, his legs crossed. But he would certainly intervene if things were turning badly for his champion…

"Shaleez, please stop that madness! The Ankou lied to you!" Vicente exclaimed. "He doesn't have the power to keep souls for himself! All the souls he captures are immediately sent to the Dread Father!"

"No! _You_ lie!" the Argonian growled, taking a dagger in her free hand and walking toward Valtieri. "I am going to kill Trencavel and you, and Uvani will be back again!"

"Please! Listen to me!" the vampire begged her. "Why do you think I refused the Ankou's offer to bring back Rivanone?"

"Because you are a stupid creature which is going to die!"

The attack was sudden and violent. The blades hit one another in a metallic noise. Vicente had managed to parry and immediately launched a counter-attack. There was a long series of heated exchanges between the two adversaries, their silhouettes paring and attacking in the light of the moons, creating a fascinating but mortal ballet.

Fighting on the small platform of the Tower was extremely hard. Vicente's experience was playing in his favour, but it was clear he would not be able to support such a pace for long. As for Shaleez, her fighting techniques were inferior to Vicente's, but fury seemed to give her the strength and stamina of ten and she was slowly taking advantage over her opponent.

"_Shaleez, would you mind to hurry a bit, please?"_ the Ankou asked, muffling a yawn. _"We are not going to spend all the night here…"_

Spurred by the liche's comment, Shaleez roared in rage and jumped on Vicente.

Then, everything happened very quickly.

Surprised and probably exhausted, Vicente had not the reflex to impale the Argonian on his blade, and the latter punched him violently in the face. Roaring in pain, the vampire dropped his sword and retreated against the wall, between two crenels. Blinded by rage, Shaleez rushed toward her enemy and grabbed him by the throat. But she was going so fast she could not stop, and to the two fighters' greatest horror, they felt themselves falling backward.

Sigrid opened her mouth to shout, but no sound came out of her throat. However, her eyes briefly met Vicente's before his face disappeared behind one of the crenels.

And, without a scream, the vampire and the Argonian toppled over the edge of the White Gold Tower.

777777777777777777

Lucien was climbing the stairs of the White Gold Tower. He was getting out of breath, and he swore to himself that if he was going to get out of this alive, he would seriously physically train again.

"_The White Gold Tower… The highest building in Tamriel…And of course, they did not think about using magic teleportation runes, like in the mage guild."_ Lucien lamented mentally.

He was sweating abundantly and the wound on his side had started bleeding again as well as the multiples cuts all over his body. To crown it all, his injuries were gradually becoming soaked with sweat and the result was extremely painful and annoying… To forget momentarily about his physical misfortune, Lucien tried to focus on his mission.

According to Vanin, Trencavel and Vicente were running toward the Palace. Lucien was not sure what they were going to do there, but they surely would not be hard to find. The Imperial Palace had been conceived has a huge tower called the "White Gold Tower", surrounded by a round building. Having quickly visited the different aisles of the Palace, Lucien had decided to explore the White Gold Tower, and the sight of Chancellor's Ocato rampaged apartments had confirmed him he was on the right track.

His impression was reinforced by the rumpus he could hear above his head, at the top of the Tower. Things were getting heated up there, and Lucien hopped not to be late…

Bah, Trencavel was with Vicente, so nothing bad could happen to her! No, with Vicente, she was perfectly safe…

777777777777777777

At the top of the White Gold Tower, the Ankou was laughing and each one of his roar of laugher resounded painfully at Sigrid's ears. Not that she was still able to have any kind of physical sensation anymore – she had stopped feeling her body a long time ago, a proof that the poison had already attacked her nervous system – but the Ankou's glee was preventing her from thinking that what had just happened was a nightmare.

"_Vicente Valtieri, the vampire, the assassin who died trying to protect the granddaughter of his lost love."_ the Ankou cackled merrily. _"Wonderful, absolutely wonderful!"_

"_No…Vicente is a vampire! An undead!"_ Sigrid prayed mentally_ "He is strong, he has great power and experience! He can't have… disappeared like that!"_

The girl was repeating the sentence in her head over and over again, like a mantra. But the way the Voice was moaning in her head clearly showed that it had no hope to see Vicente "alive" ever again. If she had been able to control her body, she would have cried…

"_Really, that would__ make such a wonderful romantic song!"_ the Ankou, who was still screeching in joy. _"Shame you won't have the time to compose it, my dear Sigrid. And talking about songs, have you ever heard that one?"_

Taking a deep breath, the Ankou started to sing. His voice was now quite different, almost pleasant, and for a moment, Sigrid had a glimpse of what man Aimard Clairvaux was before Sithis doomed him to collect souls for him.

"_The Moons enter the Tower, the Star of Sins will shine, the Liche King will reign forever, and the mortals will whines."_

And as he finished singing, the liche bowed ironically.

"_Did you like it?"_ he asked, sneering. _"Of course, you have recognised the refrain of "The Ballade of Death's Servant", a song composed by your grandmother Rivanone. That woman was a true artists as well as a visionary."_

Sigrid had another spasm. She had growing difficulties to feel her environment. Everything was getting blurred and the Ankou's voice seemed to be coming from very far.

"_I am dying."_ she thought. _"I am dying, and the Ankou is going to take my soul."_

Surprisingly enough, she did not care anymore. She was feeling too tired now, and all she was looking for was sinking to the oblivion - the _true_ oblivion not the infamous Daedras' realm.

"_Well__, this little contretemps had made us loosing some precious time…"_ said the Ankou in conversational voice while checking the edge of his blade._ "But I doubt the Brotherhood will assassinate someone tonight…It would be sad if instead of collecting your soul, I collected someone else's, wouldn't it?"_

And he moved his scythe laterally, ready to reap Sigrid's head... The blade theatrically shined in the moon light and…

"Wait!" someone yelled.

The Ankou stopped his moved in mid air and rolled his eyes.

"_By Sithis, what is it _again_?"_ he sighed, lowering his scythe. _"Ah, Speaker Lachance…"_ the liche added when he recognised Lucien. _"It is nice to finally meet you. I have followed your career with great interest, you know."_

"The pleasure is all yours…" snarled Lucien.

"_How impertinent!"_ the Ankou cackled happily, but his sarcastic smile faded a bit when he realised what Lucien was holding in his hand.

"_Ah. I see.__"_ he said, looking annoyed. _"Now I understand where you found the courage to fight me… So, this little of Foulques had managed to get eliminated, despite the fact he had the most powerful blade in his possession…"_

"Too bad I met him as he was leaving the Palaces, isn't it?" asked Lucien with a satisfied expression on his face. "It would have been wiser if you had kept it with you…"

The liche shrugged and his bones creaked sinisterly as he did so.

"_You are probably right. But I thought it would be better if Umbra stayed away from the Dark Brotherhood and the mage guild. __And I did not want it to give… 'ideas' to Shaleez. Ah well, I guess we all make mistake, hey?" _

"So, J'Ghasta was right…" Lucien said. "Shaleez was in cahoots with you!"

"_Indeed, she was. Even if Shaleez proved not to be the best acolyte ever, she was quite useful."_ the Ankou said, scratching his chin and sighing theatrically. _"Unfortunately for her, her career as my sidekick was brought to an end when her and your friend Valtieri toppled over the edge of the Tower…"_

Lucien blinked as he digested the piece of information. Then he quickly scanned the place. Trencavel was lying sitting in a pool of her own blood, and that pool was growing... Her half closed eyes were fixing something, and she looked so pale that Lucien had the impression she was dead already. Only the regular spasms of her body showed she was still alive. And there was no sign of Vicente anywhere, apart from his sword on the floor. At the sight, a feeling of dread rose in Lucien's chest.

"What did you say?" he asked, even if he already knew the answer.

The Ankou took his hat off and closed his eyes, apparently looking very depressed.

"_I just said that our friend Vicente Valtieri left us while trying to save Trencavel from her fate…"_

He then put his hat back on his head and laughed his head off. Lucien was looking at him with eyes like saucers.

"_Sad you missed it, Lucien"_ the Ankou carried on. _"It was very dramatic, especially the last glance he exchanged with Sigrid…"_

"You like drama, don't you?" asked Lucien, his voice full of hatred.

"_Yes, __I do. Isn't the White Gold Tower a wonderful – and spectacular – place to prepare my come back?"_ asked the liche, embarrassing the surrounding with a gesture of his arms. _"The formidable landscape, the wind, the two moons in the sky…"_

"Enjoy the view then!" the assassin interrupted the Ankou. "Because your come back is going to be short."

Silence fall on the two opponents who observed one another for a while. Then, they jumped forward at the same time and Umbra and the scythe hit one another in a flash of light. Both blades roared and a shower of deep purple sparks fell on the floor. The shock was so violent Lucien almost dropped his sword. But he did not let himself getting destabilized and he retreated as far as he could from the liche before coming back on guard again.

The Ankou had adopted the same strategy, but he seemed genuinely happy, and he was looking at the Umbra with admiration.

"_The Umbra is as__ powerful as the legends tell."_ exclaimed the Ankou with admiration. _"It is going to be a nice fight. Shame I have to destroy it…"_

This time, Lucien decided to attack first. He targeted the Ankou's leg, but the liche was quicker. He managed to parry the assassin blow, and, making a large move with his scythe, he pushed and blocked Umbra against one of the crenels. The stone exploded at the contact of the blades and, to Lucien's greatest horror, Umbra gave a yelp of pain. It was certainly one of the scariest things he had ever heard, and, panicking slightly, he tried to free the blade. But he never had the time to do so. The Ankou brusquely turned on himself and hit Lucien right in the temple with the tip of his scythe's handle.

Again, the assassin took a few uneasy steps backward. The blow he had received had half knocked him. Stars were dancing in front of his eyes and, thought the noise made by his blood throbbing in his ears he heard the Ankou's cold voice.

"_This is absolutely ridiculous, Lucien."_ the liche said, shaking his skull. _"Look at yourself! You are badly wounded, and even in great form, you could have not won against met. So why persisting?"_

The Ankou raised his scythe once more. Lucien managed to parry the attack, and this time, Umbra not only yelped but yelled in a high pitched voice. There was a little metallic noise and Lucien had the time to see a piece of metal falling on the ground before the Ankou kicked him in the stomach.

Groaning, Lucien kneeled on the ground and tried to get his breath back. In his hand, Umbra was moaning like a puppy. The blade was seriously nicked and it seemed to the assassin that it was glowing less than before. He closed his eyes in despair. Now, it was official: of the two evilest weapons on Nirn, the Ankou's scythe was the most powerful…

"_What are you trying to do?__ Making me kill you so you would be the last victim of the year and save Trencavel's life?"_ the liche asked ironically_. "People should now when they loose, Lucien. But if you really want to die, you turn will come. After Trencavel's, of course…" _

Lucien would have cried out of rage, but all he could do was gritted his teeth. He had failed. No, he had _miserably_ failed! Maybe Uvani and Ungolim were right after all. Maybe he was indeed a complete failure, a hopeless moron unworthy of belonging to the Dark Brotherhood and the Black Hand. He hit the floor angrily with his fists and tried to get up, but fall back on his stomach again.

"_That's enough, Lucien__!"_ the Ankou spat, sounding very angry this time. _"You fought well but I am too strong for you… And it was hopeless anyway. Look at Trencavel! She is at death's doors…"_

Lucien looked up. Trencavel was still lying on the floor. Her eyes, which were half closed when Lucien had arrived at the top of the Tower, were now wide opened and were slowly getting glassy. The Ankou's silhouette was standing in front of her, and the liche was playing with the handle of his scythe, looking thoughtful. Then, slowly and for the third time, he raised his scythe, ready to strike. Then, he spotted some move from the corner of his eyes, and he quickly moved his scythe to protect his side.

"_Too bad!"_ he shrieked happily. _"You missed m…"_

But the hit never came, and for the first time since he had been turned into a liche, the Ankou blinked in surprise. Contrary to what he thought, Lachance had not launched a desperate attack against him, but against… Trencavel.

"_Have you lost your marbles__?"_ the liche asked, bemused. _"What do you think you are doing?"_

Sigrid had a violent spasm. As if the Umbra had neutralised the poison, she found herself able to put her muscles into motion again and grabbed the blade with both hands. Her eyes were all clear again, and she was looking at Lucien with a quiet but painful and inquisitive expression on the face. She tried to remove the blade from her stomach, but she was too weak and her hands were sliding on the blade full of blood.

Lucien's heart sank, and for a moment, he was tempted to remove the Umbra. But he did not._ "You are an assassin, you are an assassin, you kill people, it is your job, it is okay…"_ he repeated in his head over and over again. He knew he had to do for there was no other option, but for the first time in his life, he was feeling revolted. And all that because of that stupid liche…! His grip tightened on the pommel of the sword and rage rose in his chest again.

"Tell me, Clairvaux." said Lucien angrily. "Sithis let you survive by taking the last soul of the year as yours, to torture you… But have you ever thought about what could happen if you did not have any soul to ravish on the New Year's Eve?"

"_What__…? What do you mean?"_

And then, what should be called the Ankou's eyes fall on the Umbra stuck into Trencavel's abdomen. _Umbra, the Eater of Souls…_Understanding stroke the Ankou as quickly as lighting. His mouth twisted in anger and fear, and he grabbed Lucien by the collar of his shirt, trying to pull him away. But he stopped when Sigrid had a last spasm, leaving her body completely limp.

"_No… No!"_ the Ankou yelled. _"You cannot do that! You can't let it suck my soul and Trencavel's away…!"_

He slapped the assassin in the face as hard as he could, and the liche's bony fingers let bloody cuts all over Lucien's face. But it was too late. Masser and Secunda were aligned, marking the passage from the old year to the new one – as well as the time for the Ankou to start consuming the energy of a new soul. Except that, this time, he had no soul to steal…

Some dust started to fall on the ground. Retreating and gargling in terror, the Ankou raised his hands before his eyes. They were crumbling into dust. He glared at one of his finger falling, quickly followed by another, and another one… His mouth opened to yell, and his jaw came off, as well as an arm. Slowly but surely he was crumbling into dust…

He collapsed on the ground, continuing to yell inarticulate noises as the desiccating process was accelerating. Then, there was a flash of deep purple light. And Aimard Clairvaux, the Ankou, Death's Servant, was gone.

Lucien blinked. Everything had happened so quickly he had trouble to believe it. All that was left of the Ankou's was his large black hat, which was standing a few feet away from the assassin.

He later turned his attention back on Sigrid. Her eyes were now smooth as glass again, but she still had that accusing expression in the eyes… Lucien passed a weary hand over his face and moved his other hand toward Sigrid's face. He stopped, hesitating, as if he was scared to touch her, but finally he braced himself and closed her eyes. He was feeling completely empty. Not the kind of satisfied emptiness he experienced after a well done assassination, no… Rather, the kind of emptiness you felt when you were trying to forget what you had done.

"_I did what I had to do."_ he thought, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself rather than quoting a fact. _"An assassin I am, and an assassin will ever be."_

Then, with great but unnecessarily precautions, he took Sigrid' corpse in his arms and started to get down the Tower. Behind him, a gush of wind made Ankou's hat flew over the wall and it disappeared into the dark sky.


	25. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**Firstly, sorry for not having replied to all the last reviews. I have been busy (how the hell can I be that busy while being on holidays? O.o) but I swear I will do that tomorrow.;) **

**Second****ly, many apologies for the spelling and grammar mistakes in the previous chapters. I wrote them late at night, and I can't really say I was very focused on grammar… And it is probably going to be the same with this very chapter…(embarrassed cough)**

**Third****ly, to my greatest horror, I have just realised I fell in the trap of the "Baddy's-monologue-at-the-end-of-the-story". Gah…:S**

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Sigrid was floating in the dark. Or rather, she had the _feeling_ she was floating in the dark, because something was telling her that neither "dark", "floating" nor actually the notion of "self" had a true meaning here.

_Here_… What was "here", exactly? Well, she knew she was dead, but she could not remember how it happened precisely… She was also aware that she should have been extremely upset about something, but it is quite difficult to be angry when you could not remember why….

So, there she was, floating in that…place. Whatever or wherever it was. But was the question relevant anymore? After all, she was feeling perfectly fine here. Not happy, but not sad either. Just… appeased. And now, all she wanted was to be sucked into that infinite nothingness and stop questioning herself about "being or not being".

"_Ah, here you are!"_ exclaimed a voice which came out of nowhere.

The tone of the voice was pleasant, but there was something strange to it. First, it seemed to come from all around her. Second, when it was speaking, it had different kind of… harmony, as if a crowd of men and women of different ages were talking together at the same time. Paradoxically, the result was both comforting and scary. Comforting, because in that chorus of voice, some of them were very familiar. And scary for the same reason. Indeed, since when people you knew – and which were now dead – speak like in a choral coming out from a vast emptiness?

"_I am glad I have managed __to find you before you definitely faded into me."_ the voice carried on. _"Otherwise, it would have been quite hard to bring you back…"_

As soon as the voice had spoken, all Sigrid's feeling of appeasement had gone, now replaced by annoyance.

"_Fading into you…?" _she barked._ "Bringing me back…? What do you mean? Who are you!?"_

"_Oh, such hostility!" _exclaimed the voice, sounding more amused than offended._ "I am the Void, but you can call me Dread Father, or Sithis, if you prefer."_

_Sithis… Dread Father…_ The names rang a bell, and something had started worrying Sigrid.

"_Excuse me, but if you _are_ the Void," _she asked carefully,_ "how can you pretend to be something if you are nothing?"_

"_Quite a philosophical question, which requires a philosophical answer."_ replied the voice sententiously. _"Do you want to ear it?"_

"_Er… no. No. Sorry, just forget about it, and, if you do not mind, I have to go now…"_

Sigrid tried to stay as polite as she could, but she was finding it quite hard. She was picturing the eternal peace that was lying in front of her, and she really did not feel like talking to anyone anymore, Void or not... After all, she was dead, and wasn't she supposed to rest in peace rather than being forced to have a rap with some kind of supernatural entity?

"_Well, I am afraid it won't be possible, Lady Trencavel.__ Your services are still required."_

What pretended to be the Void sounded embarrassed and Sigrid could not help feeling quite worried now.

"_My services__…? What do you mean?"_

"_You will find out soon enough…"_

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Later on, Sigrid would explain to her companions that coming back to life was pretty like being hit with a sock full of sand. It was not exactly painful, but not really enjoyable either – especially when you had lost people you cherished and you had to reintegrate a damaged body.

However, the pain and the memories did not come back immediately, and while her numb nerves and muscles were slowly waking up, she kept her eyes closed and was able to hear a heated conversation which was taking place not far from the bed where she was laying.

"Hang on, hang on…" said a male voice Sigrid's sleepy brain cells recognised as being Teinaava's. "She was dead. I saw her! I mean, you could not be deader than she was…"

"She is not dead anymore, so I can't see the point in arguing." Ocheeva replied flatly to her twin.

"But she was…!"

"Well, maybe you were confused..." interrupted a voice Sigrid could not identify, even if it was familiar to her. "A trick of the light or something…"

"I am an assassin, Master Scribonius!" the Argonian spat. "Being able to make the difference between a living and a dead person is quite a requirement in my branch of activity! Sigrid-was- _dead_!"

"Yes, she was." added the high pitched voice of Antoinetta Marie. "I saw her too, when Lucien got down from the White Gold Tower…"

"And it is not as if Lucien was reputed from being a clumsy assassin..." M'raaj-Dar the Khajiit pointed out in a soft voice. "So, Ocheeva, would you mind telling us what happened exactly? Don't you think that, after all those deaths – and I am not only mentioning Sigrid's and Vicente's tragic ones here – it is time to give us a clear explanation?"

There was a heavy silence, and despite her foggy mind, Sigrid knew she should have started to worry about something. But her brain cells were reluctantly getting back to work, and forcing them to produce a coherent thought would probably earn her a strike…

"I have no idea." Ocheeva admitted reluctantly. "Lucien refused to give me more details. But he added that he would clarify the situation later…"

The Argonian stopped as Sigrid grunted ad moved a bit on her bed.

"Sigrid? Can you hear us?" she asked.

But Sigrid did not reply. Her nervous system had completely woken up in a few seconds, and memories of what happened in the Imperial City flashed in head at very high speed while an awful pain brusquely tore her entrails.

Then, she opened her mouth and yelled.

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Sigrid vividly remembered the period of her life right after her "miraculous resurrection" – as assassins of the Dark Brotherhood would call it later – despite the fact she spent most of the time in bed, being prey to hallucinations because of fever. In her nightmares, she could see Martin, Vicente and the Ankou, while, standing in the background, was a menacing hooded figure who was holding a purple, gleaming sword…

When she was conscious and concentrated enough to think, Sigrid tried to work out why she had been brought back to life. Even if she was not exactly familiar with the phenomenon of resurrection, it was certainly not a simple thing to do, and if the Dread Father himself had decided to intervene… The girl shivered at the very thought. What else the Dark Brotherhood had in store for her?

If only she could talk to someone about it… But Vicente and Martin were dead, and the Voice was gone. She had never felt so lonely before, in spite of the fact that all the residents of the Sanctuary visited her regularly and tried to make her eat some kind of repulsive gruel she consciously refused to eat. Ocheeva kept repeating she needed to eat to get better, but Sigrid really doubted about the nutritive qualities of that…_soup_, having learnt it had been cooked by Antoinetta Marie…

Of course, today was no exception to the rule – someone had decided to visit her. Sighing heavily, Sigrid heard the footsteps which were getting closer to Vicente's roo… to _her_ room. She groaned and hid under her blankets.

Frankly, she was in no mood to see and talk to anybody today… Since she had been brought from the dead, she had been surprise to see that she was not exactly overcome with sorrow. Of course, she was missing Martin and Vicente awfully, but it was as if her stay in the Void had more or less sooth the pain. No, more than grief, it was shame and hatred she was experiencing. Shame, because she was alive while the ones she loved died and she had not been able to save them. Hatred, because she had been betrayed, and that feeling was reinforced every time she dreamt about the hooded figure with the purple sword…

But today was a bit different, and it seemed that grief was taking over the other feelings. Earlier in the morning, her eyes had fallen on Vicente's collection of coffin-shaped things and she had realised how little she knew about Vicente and Martin's life before she met them. And this was making her very, very sad…

The person who was walking toward her room was now knocking at the door and almost broke it in the process. Sigrid's heart leapt in her chest. There was only one person able to do that…

"Gogron!" she said exclaimed, throwing the blankets away and jumping out of bed as the Orc entered the room, carrying in his hand a bowl full of the Infamous Gruel.

"Hello, miss!" he beamed. "Lunch time!"

Sigrid jumped from her bed to throw her arms across his bull neck, but she was still very weak and did not calculate the distance correctly. There was a _splat!_ and the Orc looked down at the girl who was standing at his feet, flat on the floor.

"You are not reasonable, Sigrid." the Orc grumbled, putting the bowl on the table and picking her. "Jumping out of bed like that…"

"I am not a reasonable person." Sigrid said between her gritted teeth as Gogron was helping her to get back to bed. "And it is only now you visit me! I was starting to wonder if you were dead…"

The Orc laughed, making the walls trembling.

"The one who is going to kill me is not born yet! And now please, don't make a fuss like with the others! This gruel is perfectly safe to eat!"

Sigrid was about to reply that gruel usually did not make spoons melting, but, as she watched Gogron, she realised that there was something wrong… Something was _missing_. And when she realised what was bugging her, her jaw dropped.

"Gogron… What… What happened to your arm?" she asked, her voice trembling.

She realised her question was stupid, as the answer was quite obvious.

"Oh, that?" said Gogron, sounding abnormally relaxed. "Well, Dagon did not appreciate our interference in his business, so he showed his displeasure by tearing off my arm…"

The Orc smiled sadly. Sigrid had put her hands over her mouth and her eyes were wide in horror and concern.

"I am so sorry, Gogron… It must have been terribly painful!"

"Bah, yeah, a bit." he shrugged, and Sigrid could not help herself but winced at the sight of his stump of an arm. "But the Night Mother cured it partially, so it is OK…"

"Partially…Why?" Sigrid asked, dumbfounded.

"For the same reason she did not cure you completely and left time for your body to heal by itself…" he sighed. "Our great and wise Unholy Matron think that the pain of the mind is worst than the pain of the body, and that by allowing it to recover slowly, it gives more time to the mental wounds to heal. But I am not sure she is right..."

And the Orc burst to tear. Sigrid was so shocked it took her a while to find something to say.

"Gogron? What's wrong? What do you mean?"

And then everything became clear. All the inhabitants of the sanctuary had visited her. All, except for Telaendril, the High Elf… First, Sigrid had put this on the fact of the mutual dislike, but apparently, her absence was justified by more serious reasons…

"Telaendril had to die, you know…" the Orc started as if he has worked out Sigrid's unspoken question. "After Antoinetta had learnt from Mahaut Montfort she had sold you and Vicente to her, she could not be considered as trustworthy Dark Sister. So the Listener killed her… At least, he tried to be merciful and made it quick... By Sithis, I loved her so much! Why did she do this to us?!"

Sigrid did not say anything and hugged Gogron, while the latter passed his only valid arm around her shoulder.

"But there is a positive thing in that story." he said between two sobs. "Now, I can now hug people without risking breaking their ribs."

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Weeks passed slowly. It had been three months now that Dagon had been chased from Nirn, and Sigrid was gradually recovering from her wounds. And as soon as she had felt better, she had tried to come back to a normal life – if living with a Dark Brotherhood sanctuary could be qualified as normal.

A general and unofficial consensus had been found on the fact that Vicente's room was now Sigrid's. It had imposed itself as perfectly normal. No one had objected to this, and apparently no one was willing to. So Sigrid was now spending all her days – and nights – in the Sanctuary, as Ocheeva had made clear that getting out now would be suicidal.

Indeed, officially, Trencavel died as a hero helping Martin Septim defeating Dagon. If she had reappeared now, it would have brought too many questions, especially after the accusations of necromancy from which she had been victim…

Of course, Sigrid had protested first, not only because she wanted to get some fresh air, but also because she was afraid from dying of boredness. But above all, it was the feeling that Ocheeva wanted to keep a close eye on her that was making her ill-at-ease. The Argonian knew something she ignored, she would have been ready to bet on it…

This sensation of being closely observed had been reinforced by his companions' determination to constantly be after her, talking to her, doing different activities with her… Sigrid first had thought it was to prevent her from pondering too much on very painful subjects, but the real motivations behind their invading interest in her little person soon became obvious.

After having blown up half of the hall by inadvertence, it became clear that now the Voice had left her soul, Sigrid was showing magical abilities that desperately needed to be controlled. Given that M'raaj'-Dar and Scribonius – who was feeling perfectly at ease in the Sanctuary and had decided to stay – were the only ones in the Sanctuary experienced enough in the magical arts, they had been chosen by Ocheeva to taught Sigrid the basics about her new talents, like not blowing up the buildings in which she was living in or her friends.

As for the second reason, she had a few clues, and her fears when confirmed later…

It was one night she could not sleep. She was walking along the corridors of the Sanctuary toward the training room, hoping that exercising a bit would release the mental and physical tensions she was experiencing. And as she arrived in the hall, she saw him.

Lucien Lachance was standing right the middle of the room, looking as if he had been expecting her. He was as good-looking as ever, but the awesome face that had once seduced Sigrid was now making her sick and she had to take several deep breaths to curb her urge to stab him.

For a second, she thought about walking back to her room, acting as if she had not seen him. But it was too late. He had noticed her, and anyway, she would have felt like running away…

So, she walked toward the dark figure, clenching her fists and gritting her teeth so hard her jaw was aching. As she passed by him, she nodded quickly, trying not to meet his dark eyes and swiftly continue on her way toward the training room.

"Good evening, Trencavel." he said in her back. "Are you going to try to avoid me for the rest of your life, or will you have the courage to face me?"

At the words, fury menaced to overcome her completely. How dared he? _How dared he?_ He had killed her, and now, he was acting as if she was the one who should be ashamed!

"What do you want?" she growled, still showing her back to him.

"Well, I only came here to see how you were doing." Lucien replied in his deep and warm voice, sounding as calm as ever. "Ocheeva told me you were a bit… down lately. And there are a few issues we need to talk about."

"There is nothing I want to talk to you about!" she yelled.

Her voice echoed against the thick walls of the hall, and she was pretty sure she heard Teinaava shouting something like _"Can't you two go arguing somewhere else, please?"_ from the sleeping quarters.

"Really?" Lucien asked, and the flagrant irony of his voice acted like a spur on Sigrid.

Stifling back a torrent of insults, she turned back toward him teeth bared and eyes glittering in pure hatred.

"You knew!" she spat. "You knew I was pregnant! That is why I have been resurrected, is it not?!"

Lucien sighed and shrugged. His face was inscrutable and he was using his typical businesslike tone.

"I did not find out until the night I ki…you died." he explained, eluding to answer her last question. "I did not know what to do, but J'Ghasta suggested I took you and the Umbra to Bravil. Once there, the Night Mother freed you soul as well as Clairvaux' from the sword and let them slip into the Void… I guess you know the rest of the story."

He ducked and a chair crashed on the floor behind him.

"You should not get angry like that. It is bad for the baby." he said flatly, looking at a completely unnerved Sigrid. "The Night Mother was delighted when she found out. An heir to the Imperial throne... That was so unexpected! And the rest of the Sanctuary – myself included – is quite happy for you too…"

"I guess the Night Mother was ecstatic! It gives the Dark Brotherhood quite an asset, hey?" Sigrid burst out. "As for you… What playing with other people's life earned you this time, Lachance?" she added with a malevolent joy. "A new deadly artefact? Or maybe the Night Mother made you Listener? Don't tell me… All this was again the result of your little scheming mind! And talking about intriguers, is J'Ghasta still alive or did you feel necessary to kill him to ensure your position and power?"

A shadow passed on Lucien's face and Sigrid internally smirked as she realised she had managed to irritate him. But it lasted only a few seconds, and Lucien quickly recovered his unreadable expression.

"I am really sorry to disappoint you, Sigrid, but I am not Listener and J'Ghasta is still alive and well - he says hello, by the way. And contrary to what you seem to think, I do not just walk around killing the persons under my responsibility. "

"But killing _me_ was perfectly all right, was it?" she hissed, trembling in rage.

"I did it because I had to. And I would do it again if it was necessary."

There was a pause during which they glared at each other. Sigrid knew he would never apologise… He was, after all, a Dark Brotherhood assassin.

"Where is the Umbra?" Sigrid asked dryly, trying to change of subject.

"Our Unholy Matron kept it. There was a consensus on the fact that the blade should remain hidden for a while…"

"At least you have done something clever, Lachance." she smirked.

Lucien muffled a yawn and picked up Schemer who was scratching his leg, begging for being cuddled.

"Now you have insulted me until no more – and if you have nothing to add – I would like you to come with me." he said, petting the rat. "There is something I have to show you…"

"And what if I don't want to go along with you?" she demanded, raising her head in an arrogant and defiant move.

"Do as you wish… But given it was concerning Vicente Valtieri, I thought you may have been interested…" he said, apparently looking unconcerned.

Sigrid narrowed her eyes and her fists clenched a few times. Then she turned around and walked back toward her room.

"I am going to fetch my cape. I will be back in a minute." she said as she walked away.

And indeed, she came back a minute after and followed Lucien as they silently slept out of the Sanctuary and of the sleeping city of Cheydinhall. They walked a while in the forest, until they reached a building Sigrid immediately identified as Fort Farragut, Lucien's home. They walked round it and then, she saw it. A tomb…

"_No." _she thought, and she felt a pang of anguish_. "Not _a_ tomb. _Vicente's _tomb…" _

It was a sober one and consisted in a tombstone on which was engraved the name "Vicente Valtieri". Sigrid frowned. Someone had planted a bush of belladonna near it…

"Well…" Lucien said after Sigrid shot him an inquisitive look. "Given the fact that we could not burry him near Rivanone back in High Rock – it would raise too many questions –J'Ghasta and I thought it would be nice if he could have his Belladonna indirectly near him."

He then had an embarrassed cough, and despite the surrounding darkness, Sigrid was sure he was blushing.

"How nice of you." said Sigrid, shooting him a smile which had nothing to do with humour. "Now, would you mind leaving me alone for a moment?"

Lucien blinked.

"What? Oh, yes, yes, of course… But before I leave, I have something for you…"

And without saying anything more, he put on the ground a big parcel and left. Sigrid listened to the sound of his footsteps dying in the night, and when she was sure he was far enough, she kneeled on the tomb and gave a big sigh.

With a faraway look in the eyes, she remembered the time she had spent with Vicente. There was a question she really wanted to ask him: why did he care for her? Because she was Rivanone's granddaughter or because he really liked her for what she was? But it was too late now. Vicente was dead.

"_And now, this is the moment you collapse on the tomb, crying and saying things like 'Oh, Vicente, I am soooo sorry…!' "_

Sigrid froze, blinked and slowly looked around. She was certain she was alone, and surely, Lucien would not dare to do such a bad joke, would he…? But the voice sounded quite familiar, even if a bit muffled, as if as wrapped into something. At the thought, her eyes fall on the Lucien had left for her.

"_Are you going to open it, or will you wait for me__ to get bored to death?"_ the muffled voice demanded. _"It is darn hot in here…"_

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the wrapped object. Contrary to what Sigrid was expecting, it was quite light. She started to take the wrapping off and she got annoyed when she realised her hands were shaking.

Sigrid's jaw dropped as she recognised the sword immediately. The Dwemer blade was gently gleaming in the night, and Sigrid let her fingers ran on it – make sure she did not cut herself with the razor edges. Oh yes, she knew that sword very well, but last time she had seen it, it was not gleaming like that…

"_I have always wondered were Vicente found that sword."_ the voice said again. _"It is pretty uniq…"_

Sigrid gasped and dropped the sword on the ground, looking at it in awe. Then, carefully, she picked it up again and frowned.

"The Voice? Is that… Is that you?"

"_Itself!"_ the Voice exclaimed happily. _"It is nice to see you again _–_ and alive…"_

"But… how?" she asked, trying not to inch herself to make sure she was not dreaming. "I mean… I thought the Dread Father absolutely wanted you back, because you were defying his powers by…"

"_Long story…"_ the Voice interrupted. "_Well, in short, let just say that Sithis was not as pissed off as he used to be, and that I have managed to convince him I could be useful in many ways rather than fading into the Void for ever." _

There was a pause, and Sigrid's feature hardened.

"You could be useful in many ways, hey?"

Something in Sigrid's voice made the Voice think it may have made a stupid mistake.

"_Well, er…" _

Sigrid growled and threw the sword into the grass. The Voice yelped.

"In other words, you could keep an eye on me for him!" she exclaimed angrily.

"_No you are wrong! Spying for Sithis? But he is omniscient! He only wants me to make sure you and the baby will be safe!"_ the voice protested savagely. _"I swear! If you accept me as your sword, I will belong to you, and you alone!"_

Sigrid crossed her arms on her chest and closed her eyes. She was feeling exhausted. What was she expecting anyway? That the Dark Brotherhood would leave her alone now that she was pregnant with Martin's child? As for the Voice was the only thing that linked her to her former life, and she really needed true support for the moment, even if this support consisted in a talking sword…

"_Y__ou know, it is traditional for magical swords – especially talking ones – to have a name…_" the voice started, almost whispering now._ "So, er… I wanted to know if you already had any idea on how you are going to call me?" _it added, sounding hopeful.

Sigrid gave an annoyed sigh. If the sword had had eyes, it would have made puppy ones.

"I think… I think I am going to call you… Clairvoix."

There was a thoughtful pause as the sword registered the information.

"'_Clairvoix'__…"_ the sword repeated, sounding satisfied. _"A pun on words on the name of 'Clairvaux', my previous identity, and 'claire voix', which in Breton means 'clear voice'…"_

"Yep." Sigrid replied flatly. "Do you like it?"

"_Er__, yes, but… Does that mean you are going to keep me?"_

Sigrid smiled and got up, attaching the sword to her belt.

"Sounds like it, hey, Clairvoix?"

She then looked at the sky, where Masser and Secunda were shining. She had no clue what the future would be made of, but at least she was not alone anymore.

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It is always hard to tell when a story exactly begins. In our case, did it started when Sigrid entered the Brotherhood? Or rather when Aimard Clairvaux decided to betray the Dread Father and the Dark Brotherhood? Or simply when Nirn was shaped by what would become later the Gods and the Daedras?

Well, the same problem goes about the end of a story. Where does it end exactly? Given the facts that the last two chapters of this tale has been rather sad and that this story was supposed to be a funny one, narrative causality demanded that it ended on a positive note. So now, let's draw our omniscient readers' attention to another place…

The camera slowly takes some distance with Sigrid, travelled into the night sky at high speed, then gets closer and closer to the Imperial City, flying over the roofs and continuing until it reached a particular window of the Palace's aisle dedicated to important guests…

And in the personal apartments that had been devoted to him, Captain Burd was taking a bath. Or rather, had been forced to take a bath. A _hot_ bath. With _scented oils_.

By the Nine, only sissies were taking hot bathes with scented oils! The captain was dead against any kind of luxury and comfort. According to him, they were softening the body and weakening the mind. And a good soldier needed both to be as sharp as possible, for Akatosh's sake!

Burd grumbled as he pushed the little yellow wooden duck that a servant had felt necessary to give him. The thing was floating on the water with a stupid smile on its face. That wooden bird was annoying him greatly, but the captain could not say why… Frowning, he took the duck, examined it from all angles, and, yielding to a sudden impulse, tried to squish it. But of course, nothing happened.

Burd glared a while at the wooden duck which squinted back. For some weird and inexplicable reason, he had expected the bird to go "squeak!". Feeling a bit disappointed, he put it back into the hot water with a sigh.

Darn, this was going to be a long week… After the battle of the Imperial City, Ocato had decided to convoke the Council again in order to decide of the new political organisations of the Empire. The streets of the City were full of rumours about the setting up of a federal republic of Tamriel, but nothing official had been announced from the Palace. Ah, everything would have been so much easier if Septim was still alive…

Burd knew the debates were going to be stormy. In addition to the question of the future of the Empire, the Council also had to debate about burning issues, like determining if it was necessary to turn Martin Septim into a God and Trencavel into a Saint, as the people of the Empire wished …

Burn scratched his chin and wondered what happened to Trencavel's body. He had seen that Lachance dude disappearing with it, and despite Ocato's , no one had ever been able to find the assassin – which did not surprise Burd much. Of course, it had not taken long for the people to whisper that Sigrid Trencavel was still alive and would come back if the Empire was threatened again, and Burd wondered if what part the Dark Brotherhood was playing into that…

The Captain gave an annoyed hiss when a knock on the door interrupted his thinking.

"I said I did not want to be disturbed!" he barked. "Get out of here if you don't want me to kick you out!"

But despite his warning, he heard the door opening. Swearing out loud, he was about to get out of the bath to beat the shit out of the intruder but he stopped as he found himself facing Countess Nirana Carvain.

The Captain shrieked in a rather unmanly way and splashed back into his tube.

"Am I disturbing you, Captain Burd?" Carvain asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nonono, it is… perfectly fine!" Burd said quickly, trying to sound casual but his heat was beating widely. "So, er… How was the, er… meeting, your Highness?"

Apparently not noticing his uneasiness, Nirana Carvain sighed and sat on a bench by the tube, and Burd blessed the scented oils which had made the water opaque.

"The meeting? It was awful… After five minutes, it already turned into a fight, and I preferred leaving the room before Ontus Vanin decided to turn Chancellor Ocato into a mudcrab."

"A wise decision, you Highness…"

"Indeed…" replied the Countess, making a pout. "Oh, by the Nine, it is hot in here!"

"Er, feel free to open the window, your Highness…"

The Countess gave Burd a bright smile. The latter's highly developed sense of danger was yelling at him to run away. But he stayed in his tube, paralysed by the Countess' gaze.

"It is open already, Captain." she said softly. "And I don't think this is what I need at the moment…"

She then stood up from the bench, and, in a dramatic move, her robes dropped on the floor in a silky swish.

"Gnnnarglblub!" Burd gargled, half drowning in the tube.

"No, my dear Captain. What I really need now is… a bath."

And without waiting for an answer – which would have never come anyway as Burd looked like he had been turned to stone – the Countess slowly entered the hot water.

"Hmmm, do you mind if we take the little duke out?" she asked, drawing closer to the captain and passing her arms around his neck.

A few seconds later, a guard who was standing on the parapet outside saw a small wooden duck flew out of the window, while, in the room, Burd reconciled with hot baths.

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**The**** end…:P**

**Yeah, well, I know… Some people will complain that I have resurrected Sigrid, but I had**** planned this long ago, so...;) And she will be needed in the sequel…:D**

**Anyway, I**** hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**I really would like to thank all the readers and reviewers for their supports and suggestions, especially those who have been following the story since the beginning, like Doro 666 and Pizza The Hut. I wish I could have written faster than "a-chapter-every-month", but writing in a language which is not mine was quite a challenge…:D**

**A particular thank to**** ThatCrazyHaloGirl, who reviewed EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER I wrote (XD), Peanuckle for her suggestions, the Vampire Apple, Trooper987 (the founder of the C2 "Those who creep in the Dark") and Extoice for their great support.**

**And m****any thanks as well to my friends on Deviant Art.  
**

**Please forgive me if I have forgotten someone, it is almost 1am here…;)**

**As mentioned before, ****I am (probably) going to write a sequel (two actually), even if I won't to do it before a few weeks. And now, it is time for me to go on holidays to wonderful Ireland! XD  
**

**Take care everyone! big hug  
**

**L'Ankou. **


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